The Ghost
by WrathofAvarice
Summary: When Ned Stark is fighting Ironborn on Pyke, Petyr Baelish makes a trip to Winterfell and discovers a secret about Jon Snow, one that Robert doesn't take well. When Jon is struck with a fever, Catelyn prays for him to recover, but how can he when a catspaw assassin appears? How will events play out when a drunken priest wakes up in the crypts and a prayer goes wrong, or right?
1. Chapter 1

Petyr

The first days of a new spring were gently entering the country of Westeros as the snows of winter were melting into the earth, nurturing the life that would soon blossom all throughout the nine realms. In the North however, it would be at least another year before the snow would completely vanish. It was the one place in Westeros that would have snow when every other kingdom would be suffering under the heat of a blistering sun. Today though, the sun's heat was blocked by the clouds that filled the sky. One would hope that the weather would be fair, but the falling snow destroyed that hope completely.

Riding on the soft cold mud of the Kingsroad, Petyr gripped the reigns of his horse tightly as a sudden chill rushed down his body. He made the mistake of wearing too light a cloak when he left the capitol. But hopefully when he arrived at his destination, his host would be kind enough to supply a thicker one. At least, if she would welcome his surprise visit.

Winterfell finally came into sight. Petyr had never been nor seen the great castle of the North before. compared to the castles of the other realm it was fairly plain, but unique enough that it was its own shape and design.

Petyr sighed as he continued along the road, glad that he finally arrived, but also worried that he would be unwelcome by the smallfolk. There were some in the North that knew of his duel with Brandon Stark for Cat's hand, and many found it dishonorable that he tried to at all. Honor, what a disguise for pride these days. The Northern barbarians just use that word to say that what their country lacks that the others have, the people make up for in character.

Petyr never would have come to the North now that Cat was married and having children by the litter, but fortunately her husband was off fighting off another Greyjoy rebellion. The Ironborn were the only ones probably more stupid than the Northerners. They have the means to be a great and powerful people, but their way of the so-called Iron Price is what kept them from achieving that. They were prideful, but they were honest about it.

He slowed his horse down to a stop as two guards standing vigil at the Winterfell gates blocked his path.

"Halt," one of them said, holding up one hand while keeping the other on the pommel of his sword, "no one may enter the castle at this time until the Lord of Winterfell returns or by invitation of Lady Stark."

Such a precaution was to be expected. Ironborn spies and assassins could be anywhere in the North, ready to exact vengeance on the wives and children of the men who fought them at Pyke.

"I will admit, I have no invitation, but if you could please inform the Lady of Winterfell that Petyr Baelish of the Riverlands is at the gate, I would be most grateful."

The guard looked at the other one and nodded, signaling him to go do as Petyr asked. At least some of them were intelligent. It didn't take long for the guard to return.

"You may enter. Welcome to Winterfell, milord."

Petyr forced a smile to both of the guards as he dismounted his horse and led it through the gates. The moment he stepped foot into the castle, a feeling suddenly rushed over him. He felt uncomfortable being in such a place in a way he could not explain. He didn't feel that he wanted to leave the castle, but the castle wanted him to. Walking to the stables, a large man as big as the Mountain walked up to him with a gleeful smile.

"Hodor?" he said.

"I beg your pardon?" Petyr asked, confused.

"Hodor." The hand extended out a large hand and gently took grabbed the reigns of Petyr's horse while gesturing to the stables.

"Are you a stable hand?"

The big man's smile grew larger and said the same word again. "Hodor."

"He wants to tend to your horse." A child's voice said. Petyr turned his head and saw a small boy with a head of black curly hair and dark eyes. For a brief instant, Petyr saw something familiar in the boy's face. "Hodor can't say anything else. He'll take care of your horse from you."

"Oh, well that will be just wonderful then." Petyr let go of the reigns to the big man who gently handled the horse into the stables. Before Petyr could give some words of thanks, the small boy was hit square in the head with a snowball.

"Ow, no fair!" the boy shouted.

Not to far away, hiding behind a small wall of snow, another boy of the same age was laughing as he threw another snowball. The black-haired boy ran away to the cover of a post to avoid any more attacks already dealt.

"Petyr!" A familiar voice said. He turned around and smiled happily when he saw Cat approaching him swiftly.

"Cat," Petyr opened his arms and the two of them embrace in a tight hug. It had been far too long since he saw her. Eight years of rising up in King's Landing were well worth a small visit. They let go of each other and each took a moment to see how the other has changed. "You haven't aged a day."

"The same can't be said of you. You've grown a beard." Cat said while smirking.

"Aye, but not as thick or lengthy like the ones in the North." He kept his facial hair trimmed and shaven like every person with position in the capitol should.

"Why on earth are you wearing such a light cloak? You must be freezing." Immediately she turned to a servant girl who was close by. "Could you get something warmer for our guest."

"At once, milady."

"Eight years," Cat reminded, "how have you not had a visit in eight years? We're practically family."

"I'm sorry Cat. King's Landing is a cruel place. If you want to be anything other than a beggar, you must forfeit all of your time to the city. That, and I don't think your husband would take kindly to my presence."

"Do not be silly. Ned is not the kind of man to turn away friends of the family. Come, walk with me." The two of them began a slow pace, Cat taking the lead and making her way up to the balcony surrounding the courtyard.

"It's so glad to see a familiar face again," Cat admitted. "There have been days I've longed to go home to Riverrun for a week or two, to see father and Edmure. But the North is so much more complicated than anyone knows, it's hard to find time for one's self. How long will you be staying?"

"Not long I am afraid. I'm not just here for friendly visit, but business as well."

"Business? What kind of business could bring you here? In fact, what kind of business do you run?"

Petyr cleared his throat and was hesitant to answer. "I own three establishments in King's Landing, soon to be four."

"What kind of establishments?"

Cat gave a lecturing glare at him, knowing she wouldn't like the answer. "It is not the most of honorable of positions, but I own brothels."

"Brothels." Cat confirmed. "You own three brothels?"

"I know how it must sound, but I have become a very rich man, and high amongst the nobles in court. The Master of Coin has even taken notice of me and considering making me an apprentice of his, maybe even a successor." Cat sighed, not knowing to be disappointed or glad for him. She leaned her hands on the railing of the balcony and looked out to the courtyard.

"I am not ashamed at you, I just feel uncomfortable."

"Do not get the wrong idea. I do not take pride in owning pleasure houses, I take pride in my success. Kings Landing is a viper's nest. If you don't do what the snakes desire, they'll devour every bit of you and spit out what's left on the streets of Flea Bottom."

Cat shook her head. "The world we live in is a sick one, and we hardly do anything to remedy the illness." She turned to look Petyr. "I'm happy that you're rising up in the world. Maybe you will be the one to turn your House into one that known throughout all the Seven Kingdoms." Cat gave a pleasant smile, pleasing Petyr greatly. She turned to gaze back at the courtyard and her smiled died quickly.

"What is the matter?" Petyr looked out and could see more of the castle's children playing in a snowball fight. The two boys Petyr first saw were teaming up against of a group of three girls.

"Mother," a little girl's voice said. Petyr and Cat turned to see a small girl with red hair looking up at Cat. "Can I go play with the others?"

"No Sansa," Cat said firmly, "I don't want you playing with the bastard."

The little girl looked absolutely crushed at her mother's denial. "Cat," Petyr said, "who might this be?"

"Petyr, forgive me, this is my daughter, Sansa. Sansa, this is Petyr of the House Baelish. He is an old friend of mine I grew up with in Riverrun."

The little girl looked at Petyr and gave a curtsey to him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord."

"Such grace," Petyr commented, "are you sure she's your daughter and not the princess of the North?"

Sansa gave a little smile and blushed at his remark.

"Cat, you must not be cruel to her. To let the other children play and not her, it would be a sin against the Seven to not let her have fun with them on a day like this."

"Petyr-"

"She won't be a little girl forever Cat. Let her enjoy it while she can."

Cat sighed heavily and knelt down to her daughter. "You may go and play with them, but I better not hear of you falling asleep during your lessons anymore after this, alright?"

Little Sansa smiled brightly and tightly hugged her mother around the neck. "Thankyou! I promise I'll pay extra attention to Septa Mordane." Sansa gave another curtsey to Petyr before running off to go join the other children. Instead of evening the odds and joining the boys, she and another girl joined the others, making it five against two.

Cat rose up and continued to watch the children play but wasn't at all pleased.

"Which one is your husband's bastard?" Petyr asked.

"They one with the dark hair next to my son, Robb." She was referring to the same boy who helped him at the stables. So he was the famous Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, Eddard Stark's only stain on his honor. "Ned could sire a dozen bastards and I would overlook all of them, so long as not one was in sight."

Had Cat chosen him over the Starks, she would not have had to at all. "I cannot imagine how it feels. To be constantly reminded of husband's dishonor must be a tough strain on your marriage."

"I do love him Petyr, and he does love me. But this damn honor of his can be so irritating. He won't even tell me the name of the bastard's mother. All he ever says is 'he's my blood, and that's all you need to know.' Sometimes I wish Ned just left him in Dorne where he was born with his mother, whoever she may be."

Petyr suddenly became greatly confused. "Dorne? But his name is Snow, isn't it?"

"I brought that up once myself. Why give the boy the name Snow when he is a Sand? I got the same answer I get every time I asked about the bastard's mother followed by 'he is the blood of the North, and the North will be in his name.'"

Things began to make sense now. Petyr knew that Eddard Stark brought the little bastard to Riverrun from Kings Landing when the rebellion was over, but it never occurred to him to think he was born anywhere but the North until now.

"I hope I do not sound out of place when I say I can understand your husband's dishonor to you now. He went to Dorne to rescue his sister, but her death must have grieved him so much that he fell into despair. In my experience of running my business, sometimes a woman's warmth is the only thing that can bring men out from that darkness and back to themselves."

"If that was how it was, I think in my heart I could find it more tolerable to have the boy here, but he was conceived before Lyanna died."

"He was?"

Cat shook her head and regained her composure. "Forgive me. Here you are, freezing and visiting after years and I have you talking about the bastard. Let's get you settled in the guest chambers. I would love for you to meet my youngest, Bran."

Petyr put on his smile that he always wore in Kings Landing. "Yes, that would be wonderful." A they both began to walk to the inside of the castle, Petyr took one last look at Jon Snow, wondering what kind of woman was able to make a Stark break his vows.

* * *

Jon

"Five against two isn't fair!" Robb shouted after a snowball pelted him on his nose.

"What's wrong?" Jeyne Poole shouted at them. "A couple of boys mad that they're going to lose to a bunch of girls?" All five of the girls began to giggle behind there fort of snow. They were nested right below the balcony, and none of them but Robb and Jon noticed a certain two-year-old sister of theirs with a wooden bucket of snow. While everyone was playing, Arya was gathering snow, but everyone thought she was going to play by herself. With the help of Ser Rodrick, Arya tipped the bucket over and rained a large soft block of snow on top of Sansa's head while he made sure she didn't fall too.

Robb and Jon started to burst out laughing while Sansa started to fuss. She looked up and saw who the culprit was. "Arya!" The baby Stark girl started to laugh uncontrollably at Sansa's defeat. Ser Rodrick picked her from the balcony and handed her over to a wet nurse who was looking for her.

"She's a little she wolf that one, just like the late Lyanna." Ser Rodrick said to the wet nurse.

As Sansa brushed the snow out of her hair and off her dress, Robb and Jon got out of their cover and approached the girls. "What should we play next?" Robb asked.

"How about Aegon the Conqueror?" Jon suggested.

"No, that game is only for boys." Joy Cassel spat. "Honestly, bastards can't think of anything good."

"Shut up!" Robb shouted. "If anyone calls Jon a bastard again, then they don't play anymore." Some of the girls scoffed at Robb for defending Jon. Jon personally didn't care. He was always reminded by Lady Catelyn of what he is, it was all she ever did when she addressed him.

"How about Hide and Seek?" Sansa suggested.

"Oh that's a wonderful idea." Sarah, daughter of Tommy the barber, said.

"Yes, let's play that." Joanna Holt agreed.

"Alright," Robb said, "Since Joy thinks she knows everything about games, she'll seek and we'll hide."

Before Joy could object, everyone already ran away to find a place to hide. She would have one hour to find them all or else she would lose.

Jon let his feet take him wherever they felt like going. He wasn't very good at hiding and was always found very quickly, but this time he had a spot that no one would be able to find him. Sneaking into the castle, he barrowed a lantern that wasn't being used and while no one was looking, descended down into the crypts of Winterfell. He began a long dash down stone steps into darkness that was only illuminated by the light of his lantern.

Entering the Crypts, he searched for the biggest statue of his ancestors he could find. "Why aren't there any fat Starks?" He openly asked as he passed the statue of his grandfather Rickard.

After many twists and turns, Jon became lost. Maybe it would've been smarter to hide somewhere else rather than this. His father said that the crypts spread out farther than the castle itself. Trying to find his way back, Jon spent far too long than he hoped being in the crypts. He started to become scared and worried that he might not make it out. He looked for any familiar statue he could find, but the stone made them all look very similar. Some of them had direwolves at their sides, others held a steel replica of the Stark greatsword, Ice.

While trying to get his bearings, Jon tripped over his boot and fell on the ground. The lantern he carried broke and the light of the candle went out. He was now in complete darkness and had no idea where he was. He could be a mile away from the castle for all he knew.

"Somebody help me!" His shouts echoed throughout the crypts. He didn't think he would get lost, he just wanted to win at Hide and Seek for once. He crawled on all fours all felt the ground with his hands, searching for anything. He cut some of his fingers on the glass of the lantern and winced back. Finally, he found the foot of one of the tombs. Feeling scared beyond his imagination, Jon curled up at the base of the statue in front of the tomb and began to cry. He didn't know how long he was in the crypts, but it felt much longer than an hour.

He lost track of whether he was awake or not, but he did feel the ethereal presence of someone near him. He shivered as the cold depths of the tombs pierced through his cloak to his skin. But in the cold, felt a warm hand over his face. A thumb caressed his check and wiped at his tears. Whoever it was holding him was a woman. The hand was far too soft and small to belong to a man.

"Who's there?" Jon asked.

In a pure instance of silence, the faintest voice sounded in the darkness, quieter than a whisper. 'I am.'

"Jon!" Ser Rodrick's voice echoed throughout the crypts. The light of a torch appeared at the end of the hallway Jon was in. All senses shot through Jon as hope rose within him.

"Over here!" Jon replied. Ser Rodrick and two other Stark guards found him lying down at one of the statues.

"Seven hells boy," Rodrick told him, "what possessed you to come down here alone?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get lost."

Ser Rodrick handed his torch to one of the men with him and picked Jon up in his arms. "No one ever means to get lost, Jon. That's why you make sure you know how to find your way back."

Jon nodded to Ser Rodrick as he was lifted off the ground. "There's someone else here." Jon told him.

"Who?"

"A woman, she was behind me." Jon turned his head, but only saw the statue of his aunt Lyanna.

"The darkness can play tricks on your mind Jon," Rodrick told him.

Jon was certain that someone was with him, but maybe it was only a dream. By the time they came out of the crypts, the snow stopped falling and the skies cleared. The world was on the edge of night, the light of the sun almost faded from the sky.

"Jon!" Robb shouted as the entered the courtyard. "Where was he?"

"Asleep in the crypts in front of Lady Lyanna."

"Will he be alright Ser Rodrick?"

"He'll be fine. He just needs a bath to warm him up." Ser Rodrick assured Robb.

As Jon was being carried to the castle, he saw Lady Catelyn on the balcony. She looked relieved, but probably only because his father would blame her for whatever happened to him. Standing next to her was that man who he helped with Hodor, looking at him curiously.

* * *

Petyr

Night gathered over the lands and all were nearing their time to sleep with the rest of the world. Resting comfortably on his bed, Petyr found himself unable to feel the weight of sleep pulling his down on his eyelids. He was more awake than he ever was, all because he couldn't manage to get Jon Snow out of his mind. Something about that boy bothered him in his deepest thoughts, yet he couldn't tell what it was.

 _'I've Met Ned before Robert's Rebellion at Harrenhal. He never struck anyone as the kind to break a vow or do anything even as little as tell a lie. He was a man among ten thousand people said. He had a great attraction to Ashara Dayne, and so did Brandon. I think I once heard a rumor that she was the boy's mother, but little do they know what I do about her and Brandon. It truly was a tragedy that about their child that drove her to kill herself. Tough Ned killing her brother is probably what drove her over the edge. Now that I think about it, I used to think Arthur was like how Ned is now. But he did his duty to his prince and kept Lyanna a prisoner. One would think he would be sensible and let free a woman kidnapped and raped by the son of the Mad King. No one would've thought that Rhaegar had the madness in him. He was too beautiful of a man for anyone to care. Maybe the maddest thing he did was crown Lyanna his queen at the tourney. Robert was furious and all Rhaegar did was smile at her. I can still remember how his face looked. Just like Jon Snow…'_

A thousand thoughts flooded through Petyrs head when he had a sudden epiphany. As if in an instant, all possibilities showed themselves in front of him. He sat up from his bed and gaze at the walls around him. That familiar part of Jon Snow's face, he looked exactly like Rhaegar, but with Lyanna's colors. _'What if Ned Stark's bastard isn't his? He has never said to Cat that he is his father, only his blood. What if a fever isn't what killed Lyanna Stark, but childbirth? Why would Ned claim the boy as his? Elia's children were butchered by the Mountain, and he was rewarded by Robert for it. There would be no way that a bastard of Rhaegar and Lyanna would be given even a once of mercy, but Ned would protect his family at any cost, even his honor._

Petyr started to uncontrollably chuckle quietly to himself. With a secret like this, it could start another war. There would be no situation that Eddard Stark would hand over his blood to be executed by Robert, and there would be no situation that Eddard Stark wouldn't forgive and forget if an assassin killed the boy.

 _'But then again, what if the boy isn't? What if it is all just sheer coincidence? If the boy is indeed Stark's bastard, then it will be even more pleasurable. Robert will be easy to convince, and Eddard won't forgive him for killing his blood. Targaryen or Stark, the boy is still a bastard who can make wonderful things happen. At least for me.'_

If a war broke out between the North and the crown, it would be as bloody as the rebellion. But if things played out right, maybe both the King and the Warden of the North would be out of the picture, and the Iron Throne freed from the Baratheon's and the Lannisters, leaving it empty for someone better to claim its seat. But everything rested on the bastard's life. If he was killed, and a faint trail lead to someone, say the Lannisters, to be thought responsible, then all the North will cry for war. And if things played out perfectly, then the woman he loved would be widowed, and free for him to claim what should have been his long ago.

"So the game begins."


	2. Chapter 2

**I guess updates may be quicker than I thought since I'm having trouble with the next chapter of Night Dragons. Enjoy**

* * *

 **Warning, mild sexual content**

* * *

Robert

In all of Robert's years, he never imagines to have any love for the Iron Islands. But now that he was here, it had everything he could want, save for some decent whores, or women for that matter. But aside from that, clear skies, the wonderful smell of the ocean, a warm sun, and an Ironborn to kill wherever he looked.

With the walls of Pyke finally breached, Robert followed Ned and the other Northerners into what would be the final battle of the Greyjoy rebellion. The Ironborn were outnumbered ten to one and they still fought back, exactly what he was hoping for.

Swinging his mighty Warhammer, Robert smashed the massive steel head square on the side of an Ironborn's head, completely obliterating everything into a bloody mush. He let out a bellowing laugh as more desperately tried to fight back but failed beyond their misery. One of the damned sailors nearly succeeded in running a blade through Robert had a Northerner not run the man first and saved Robert's life. "Seven hells!" Robert exclaimed with a gleeful grin. "Twas almost the death of me!" He bashed his hammer into another Ironborn, killing him instantly. "I'll have you knighted for that!" The Northerner looked surprised just before on of the towers of Pyke was hit by a catapult attack and began to crumble. Soldiers from both sides began to flee out of the towers path of collapse, but Robert wanted as many of these damn rebels dead as he could get.

Charging to the fleeing men, Robert grabbed hold of an Ironborn's spaulder and threw him back into the path of the tower. The Ironborn was just a lad, no older than twenty, and the look of despair he had on his face before the stone fell and crushed him was absolutely marvelous. The part of him left unscathed was an arm and his legs. Unfortunately, he was the only one to die by the falling tower. Robert took a deep breath and savored every moment of the fight.

It was at this point the rest of the rebels laid down their arms and fell on their knees, surrendering.

"Damn," Robert muttered under his breath, "wish I could've spilled more blood." He looked around at the men waiting for his command. "THE CASTLE IS OURS!" Despite not having actually taken the castle, only the courtyard, it was clear that this was the end. Balon had no more men to oppose him, which meant the battle and the Greyjoy Rebellion was over. Robert raised his hammer into the air and all the men cheered around him.

Searching past the men, Robert spotted his favorite Northerner wielding his family's incredibly huge Valyrian Greatsword, Ice. Ned was shaking hands with that crazed red priest who led the charge into the breach. "Come on, Ned!" Robert ordered, "we have a man pretending to be a king to break."

Ned rolled his eyes at Robert as he followed him into the castle with the Kingslayer and Ser Barristan catching up. Of course Ned would be the only one without a cheer in the world right now. He never had the same taste for war and blood as Robert did. 'War and Blood, now those words should be the Baratheons.'

Robert nearly got carried away before they all entered the main hall of Pyke. Standing with his back turned at him was 'King' Balon. Hiding next to the Salt Throne were his youngest children, a chubby little girl and a skinny boy.

"It's over?" Balon openly asked.

"If you have a question, you better look me in the fucking eyes, Greyjoy." Robert demanded.

Balon turned around, but his eyes couldn't lift from the floor.

"Your armies are broken, your fleet burned into the ocean, and your castle crumbling. Do you surrender?"

Balon's jaw started to shake as he took his time to let the words come out of his mouth. "I surrender."

Robert didn't want him to surrender, he wanted his head on spike. But being a King meant he had to follow 'honorable' standards. But he still would make sure Balon knew his place. "I couldn't hear you, Greyjoy. You'd better speak louder so we can all hear you."

Balon's fists clenched as he repeated his words. "I surrender!"

"Louder, gods damn you!"

"I SURRENDER!" Balon's shouts echoed through the halls of Pyke and out to the courtyard. The man looked utterly distraught and ashamed at his loss. Less than half of what Robert hoped for, but it would have to do for now.

Robert walked up to the shivering man, his Kingsguard and Ned stay close by, and slammed the pommel of his Warhammer on the stone floor. "Kneel and lay that pitiful crown at my feet." If anyone would call a bundle of sticks nailed together a crown.

Balon did as ordered as removed his driftwood crown form his head and placed it hesitantly on the cold stone floor.

"I, Robert of the House Baratheon, King of Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector… oh fuck it all. I accept your surrender, Greyjoy. And to make sure you remember this day…" Without warning, Robert gripped his Warhammer in both hands and raised it above his head.

"Robert, no!" Ned shouted in protest.

He swung his hammer down with all strength, landing it on the crown before him and barely missing Balon's head. The crowned was instantly destroyed into nothing but splinters and cracking the stone beneath it. Robert relished the look of shock in everyone's faces. "Do you all think so little of me to kill an unharmed old man?" He let out a great laugh that no one cared to join. "Bring his children forward." Robert ordered.

Balon's body started to shake and he kept his eyes to the ground as the two children were forced to stand before Robert. "Where's the other one?" Robert inquired. "The eldest was killed at Seaguard, the second born should be somewhere in the castle." He looked down at the kneeling man. "Where's your son, damn you!"

"Your grace," one of the Northerners said as he stepped forward. All eyes fell on him, including Balon's. "Maron Greyjoy was crushed under the falling tower."

So that's who the boy was. "Damn," Robert muttered as he turned his gaze to the young boy in the arms of his chubby sister, "then we'll make do with the new heir. Bring the boy forward." A pair of arms separated the boy from his sister and he began to cry as he was forced to his knees. "What's your name you little bastard?"

"Th-Theon Greyjoy." The boy croaked past his tears.

"Tell me, how do you think I should punish your idiot rebel father for all the trouble he's caused?"

The boy looked ready to piss himself he was so scared. "I-I don't know."

"So many options, but I want to get off this fucking island as soon as I can. Should I strip your father of his titles and lands? Or maybe I should kill you, leave him with no heirs until he can squirt another up some woman's filthy cunt."

"Robert!" Ned interjected as he stepped forward. "The battle is won and there are already more dead than needs be."

Robert just chuckled at Ned's objection. "Can none of you have a sense of jesting in these troubled times? It seems not. Balon of the House Greyjoy, I will allow you to remain Lord of the Iron Islands and keep what you call a kingdom. But only on the condition that your last son will become a hostage of the crown to ensure your loyalty. Do you accept, or do you have a better idea?" He asked mockingly.

Robert could feel the anger radiating from Balon and begged to the Seven to give him an excuse to kill the man, but it was not to be. "I accept the terms." They boy's eyes widened and the tears flowed harder down his cheeks.

"Then I declare this Rebellion over, and victory to the crown." While the Men cheered for him, Robert walked right up to Ned. "Since you seem to value the boy's life, I leave him in your care as your ward."

"Robert-"

"You've already brought one bastard to your home from war, I'm sure your wife won't mind another." Ned only looked upset and disappointed. Robert didn't care if it would trouble him. "If needs be, I'll send a raven to Winterfell saying it's by my orders. Your wife's an obedient woman, I'm sure she'll not question the crown's authority."

Ned only sighed out his frustration. "Thank you, your grace."

Robert caught sight of the Northerner who saved his life during the battle. "You," He pointed at the the man, "step forward and tell me your name."

"Jorah Mormont of Bear Island."

"Bear Island? I hear the women are ferocious in battle as they are in bed." Finally, a few other men joined Robert in a small laugh. "You fought valiantly and saved the life of your King when the Kingsguard couldn't. Kneel." Jorah did as ordered by his king and bowed his head down. "Jorah Mormont, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

"I swear it, by the old gods and the new." Jorah responded.

"Then rise, Ser Jorah, knight of Bear Island." When Jorah rose to his feet, he looked proud, but also like he had the unsustainable urge to piss.

"Now then, the war is won! Send the ravens to let the kingdoms know of our victory, and bring me some damn wine!"

* * *

Ned

With Pyke secured and the war won, Eddard kept to himself on his ship for the next few days. In his cabin, he sat at his desk, writing a letter to Catelyn, explaining his experience and the guest they would be receiving soon.

 _-Dear Cat_

 _We have secured Pyke and defeated the Ironborn. However, to ensure utter loyalty from Balon Greyjoy, Robert has ordered that Balon's last remaining son Theon be a hostage of the crown and that I must house him as my ward. I will be sailing for Torrhen's Square in the morning. I will write again when we land and hopefully hear from you by then_

 _-Ned_

He would've written more if the parchment was bigger, but the ravens could only carry quick messages. Stamping the scroll with the direwolf seal, Ned brought it to a raven available to him and sent it away, hoping that his next letter could be more of his opinion on the matter.

He didn't want to take the boy as his ward, he shouldn't. But anywhere else and the boy might be killed or become so miserable that he would kill himself. Either way, he didn't have a choice and would do the best he could to care for the boy, maybe even bring him to become a better man than his father.

No matter what happened, Ned was stuck with the care and responsibility for the boy. It was almost evening and he had time to kill, so he decided that maybe he should at least introduce himself to the boy before they left.

Followed by Jory and four other of his guard, Ned returned to the castle which was now under heavy guard of both his men and the Royal Army. The Ironborn were very scare, keeping to the docks and villages on the island until the armies left. Balon locked himself in his chambers after seeing the desecrated corpse of his son, Maron. He wouldn't come out unitl Robert and the armies left the Iron Islands, not even for his surviving children.

Ned suspected that he was the only one to see what Robert did. It was barbaric and inhumane to kill a boy like that. Ned was accustomed to war and killed boys just as young when Robert rebelled against the Targaryens, but never did he do something so… evil.

Finally at the door of Theon Greyjoy's room, Ned turned to Jory and his guard. "Wait outside."

"Yes, my lord." Jory responded.

Ned knocked twice on the door before cracking it open.

"Come in," a sad boy's voice responded.

Ned opened the door the rest of the way and entered the room, surprised to see hardly any posessions inside. The only things present were a bed, desk, and a cold fireplace. Theon was sitting in the corner of the room with his knees pulled to his chest and a small rucksack beside him.

Once he saw who entered his room, Theon rushed to his knees and bowed to Ned, most likely out of fear. "Forgive me, my lord Stark. I didn't know it was you."

"You don't need to bow lad. Stand up."

Theon slowly rose to his feet but didn't make eye contact with him. Ned began to massage his temple as he tried to think of what to do next. He wasn't about to give a lecture to his sons or a lesson his father gave him when he was a boy. He was facing a child who was nothing but a hostage now.

Pulling the chair from the desk to the side of the bed, Ned gestured his arm for Theon to sit down. He did so slowly but continued to surrender his eyes to the ground.

"Do you know anything about Winterfell?"

Theon just shook his head.

"I can tell you it's one of the oldest castles in all of Westeros, built by my ancestor Brandon the Builder. The Same man who built the Wall and the Hightower. The halls are warm, even in the coldest of winters. In the crypts, there are Stark buried from thousands of years ago."

Theon didn't seem very intrigued at the history and architecture, which only made things more awkward.

"I don't know what it is you expect out of this, whether you think you'll be caged in a dark cell or something like that, it won't be the case." Theon finally got the courage to look up at the him. "You'll be raised with my sons, Robb and Jon. You'll have your own room and freedom to roam the castle grounds."

"But I'm still going to be your hostage." Theon reminded.

Now Ned was the one who was looking at the ground. "You're my ward now, Theon Greyjoy. Many will say that you are just a hostage of war to keep your father from causing trouble, but I swear to you that you will treated as one of my own. We don't have many knights in the North, but if you desired I could arrange for you to squire for one that lives in Winterfell. And when you grow older into a fine man, I might even be able to convince Robert to let you return here."

For the first time since he saw the boy, Ned saw a glimmer of hope in the Theon. "Do you really think so?"

In all truth, Robert wouldn't let Theon leave Ned's custody until Balon died and the next Greyjoy needed to rule over Pyke. "I swear to you that one day, you'll sail back to Pyke as your own man."

Theon only responded with a small nod. Their time together was interrupted by a knock on the door followed by Jory's voice.

"Lord Stark, the King has ordered we set sail before nightfall."

This was irregular. Robert said he wanted to rest until tomorrow. He got sea sick when he tried to sleep on a moving boat. "I guess we have less time than I hoped." Ned got up from his seat and approached the door, but looked back to Theon. "If you wish to know more about my home, we can talk when we set sail. Just don't forget that it will be your home as well, not a prison others will say it to be."

At the docks, Ned waited for Theon to say his farewell to his older sister Yara. He didn't know when they would see each other again, but he hoped it wouldn't be too long. But to Ned's disgust, Balon didn't even have the nerve to see off his last son.

As Theon boarded the ship, Robert finally showed up, looking very drunk.

"Is something the matter?" Ned asked.

"Hah!" Robert bellowed, "not at all. In fact I've decided to make a stop at Winterfell before I go back to the shit stinking city. We have to have a victory feast of course! And there's no place better than the North!"

This wasn't at all a shock to Ned. Jon Arryn warned him of Robert's spontaneous desires for pleasurable events and constant feasting.

Ned just rolled his eyes and decided that maybe something like this is what he needed to get out of the sullen mood of war. Before he boarded himself, Ned spotted the red priest sitting idly by drinking from a flask. Ned was with him during the charge into Pyke, and if it weren't for him, Ned would've died on this wretched island.

He walked over to the old priest and got a terrible whiff of his scent. The red priest reeked of alcohol, worse that Robert, but he wasn't near as fat.

"Lord Eddard Stark," the priest spoke out in a hoarse voice, "what can I do for you before you depart?"

"The King has decided to have a feast in Winterfell to celebrate our victory. I owe you a debt, and would like to extend my hospitality and ask that you join us."

The priest's brow arched high, nearly meeting his receding hairline. "First time any lord's invited me to a feast. I'll gladly accept that offer." He got to his feet and joined Ned onto the ship.

As the sun finally reach the horizon and met the ocean, the armies that defeated the Ironborn departed from Pyke. Ned stood with Theon Greyjoy as the boy rested on the ship's railing and watched his home disappear into the distance.

* * *

Robert

With the ship anchored and docked in the late afternoon, Robert was the first one to disembark the ship and set foot into Torrhen's Square. He was greeted by Helman Tallhart as he reached the end of the docks. "Welcome, your Grace." Lord Tallhart knelt down as did a great number behind him.

"Stand up, my lord." Robert ordered.

"I must ask forgiveness. Had we known you'd be joining Lord Eddard, we would have prepared a greater entourage for your arrival."

"The best thing you can do to make up for it, is point me to the best brothel you have." It had been six months since he's fucked a woman, but even longer since he's had a good one to fuck, especially his wife.

Lord Tallhart forced a smile Robert didn't care about. "Of course, I'll have one of my men show you to the town's favored establishment. But you may care to know that we've had several ravens from the capitol arrive before you did."

Seven hells, whatever it was, Jon Arryn could take care of the matters himself. It was the only thing he was good for as his Hand. "Ned!" Robert called as Ned disembarked the ship with Theon Greyjoy staying close to him. "Be a brother to me and take a look at what Lord Arryn wants."

"Robert, I'm not a member of the court. It would be improper for me."

"I'm the bloody King and I say whoever gives you shit can go fuck a goat. Take some time and see what our good father wants. Right now, I need wine and women." Robert stared back at Lord Tallhart for a moment before firmly responding. "Now."

Lord Tallhart chuckled nervously before one of his men stepped before the king. "If you'll follow me, your grace."

"Finally." It had been two miserable weeks at sea and not enough blood was spilled by his Warhammer to satisfy him. The last thing he wanted to do was return to his duties as a King. Maybe if Ned handled it fairly well, he'd name him to be his next Hand.

Winter was over and a new season was just beginning. 'Wonder how many times I can make the eight by next winter?'

Everyone in the brothel became absolutely stunned to see the King 'gracing' them with his presence as he entered. He was giving the best girl the place had, despite her already in use.

Before he entered the room offered, Robert turned to Ser Barristan and the Kingslayer. "Unless you plan on getting your own whores, stand your vigil outside the bloody establishment, or see to it that Lord Stark doesn't need help with anything. But by the Seven leave me some peace." He slammed the door in their faces and hungered for the large buxom finally open for him.

It was only an hour later that he finally had his fill and so did the whore. "Never had that much in me before. Don't know if any moon tea will keep that much at bay."

"I don't care if you spawn a little bastard. I've got half a dozen already. Just don't think you can get anything from me because of it." Roberts laced his breeches back up, but noticed his gut was beginning to obstruct his vison of hands at his balls.

"Believe me, my King, I plan on keeping this one. How else do you prove you've been fucked by royalty?"

Robert laughed with her as he pulled his shirt over his body. Despite wanting to continue, Robert wasn't cruel enough to force all his duties to Ned.

"Oh, your grace, I nearly forgot." The whore crawled over the bed to a nightstand and retrieved a sealed scroll resting on it. "Someone left this for you before you arrived. I was told it was for your eyes only." She held it out for him and Robert took it without question. There was no indication of who it was from, but Robert opened it regardless. He only unraveled it half way when he noticed the whore watching him.

"What part of for my eyes only do you not understand?" Robert growled. "Get out."

"I'm sorry, your grace, but I can't walk." Usually that would be a compliment, but Robert had too much to do right now to care and the faster he took care of the damn scroll the better. Luckily, there was someone standing vigil outside the room despite his orders.

"Selmy!" Robert shouted. Ser Barristan entered the room, looking displeased to be where he was. "Help her out while I finish dressing."

"Yes, your grace." Ser Barristan walked over to the bed and extended a hand to the whore as she covered herself with her dress. Despite his age, he picked her up and carried her out of the room with ease, finally leaving Robert alone.

He unraveled to the scroll completely and read what was written.

The children of the Mad King hide in Essos, but there is one more child in Westeros with the blood of the dragon. Should you wish to know more, come to the ship with sails baring a winged goblet after nightfall. Leave the Kingsguard at the docks.

Robert's blood began to boil when he read those words. Another fucking Targaryen? If the message didn't say 'child', then he would've thought it to be that old fool at Castle Black. Had that been the case, Robert wouldn't have cared. But this peeked his interest and rage to imagine another dragon spawn still alive in Westeros. Crunching the scroll in his hand, Robert hurried to get himself dressed and prayed to the gods the night would come fast.

The time it could for darkness to envelope the sky was too long even though the spring evenings were fairly early.

The Kingslayer's shift was over and now only Ser Barristan kept his watch over the King as Robert boarded a ship that matched the description in the scroll. He told no one, not even Ned, about the information he received.

The entire vessel was completely abandoned. Not one to be foolish enough to fall into a trap, Robert kept his hand cautiously around the hilt of his sword as did Ser Barristan.

The door to the captain's cabin slowly creaked open, adding a sense of haunting to the ships presence. The tiny light of lanterns illuminated the inside of the room and Robert walked inside and saw a single figure sitting down at a table. Whoever it was kept his hood up and let shadow cloak his face.

"As you can see," the cloaked man said, "we are alone and I, unarmed."

"Oh, I see perfectly," Robert told him, "but the one thing I can't see is your face. Either take the hood off or I cut it off with your head still in it."

The stranger chuckled at Robert's enthusiasm. "Forgive me for the precaution, your grace. But you can imagine the knowledge I have is best said without anyone besides you knowing the source." He gestured a finger to Ser Barristan.

After scanning the room enough to know that no shadow inside was strong enough to hide any assassin, Robert nodded. "Wait at the docks, Selmy."

"Your Grace," Ser Barristan protested, "I cannot leave you alone-"

"I just gave you a command, and what is your duty as a Kingsguard?"

"… To obey my King's command." Ser Barristan sighed out.

"Close the door behind you."

Ser Barristan did as he was commanded, almost slamming the door behind him.

"Now then," the stranger said as he revealed his face, "allow me to introduce myself-"

"Petyr fucking Baelish." Robert stated. "I've been to your brothels many times before, you think I wouldn't recognize you?"

"Considering how drunk you were each time, I'm surprised that you do." Petyr jested.

Robert snorted as he took a seat opposite of him. "Now then, 'Littlefinger,' explain to me why you think there's another Targaryen."

Petyr cleared his throat, a hint of nervousness emanating from him. "As you and the rest of the world know, there are three known Targaryens left alive. Maester Aemon Targaryen of Castle Black, sworn and chained to the Citadel and the Night's Watch, and then the two children who escaped your forces during the rebellion, Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen."

"Thank you for the reminder, now get on with it or I'll have your head for making me miss a night with some of the best women the North has to offer."

Petyr straightened himself in his seat, looking poise and too satisfied to be here. "Tell me, how many children were born from the seed of Rhaegar Targaryen?"

"Two, Aegon and Rhaenys. But they're both dead. I saw their bodies laid before me in the Red Keep."

"Yes, I and the whole of Westeros know about that fateful day. To the world, they were the only of offspring. But a fortnight ago, I heard a rather bit of new information about someone that just felt too… coincidental to not be true."

"And do tell, before I lose my patience and choke it out of you." If there was another spawn of Rhaegar fucking Targaryen, then no pain in the world would bring the secret out faster than what Robert's rage could inflict.

"Of course. First you must know, that Aegon and Rhaenys were the only children Elia Martell bore to Rhaegar. I must warn you, the identity of the other mother might be a bit… shocking to hear."

"Why in the name of the god's would I care about who the mother is?"

"Because it is Lyanna Stark who is the mother."

Robert lost all control when he heard the words of this little man dishonor his true love in such a way. He shoved the table aside and charged forward at Petyr, grabbing hold of his neck and slamming him on the wall behind him.

"You dare... defile the memory of the only woman I ever loved in this world?" Robert's bore his teeth like a wild animal as his grip tightened immensely.

"Please… I can… explain…"

There was a knock on the door to the cabin. "Your grace!" Ser Barristan called. "Is everything alright?"

"Begone with you Selmy!" Robert shouted. As the sound of Ser Barristan's footsteps disappeared, Robert looked back to Petyr whose face was beginning to purple and eyes turning bloodshot. "Choose your next words carefully, and then I will see if you worth the effort to kill myself."

With Petyr's last bit of breath, he only managed to squeak out three words. "Ned… Stark's… Bastard…"

Robert's eyes widened as he loosened his grip on Petyr. The man fell on his knees and desperately regathered the air he lost.

"You have my praise, Baelish." Robert told him, "you've just earn another minute to live. Use it wisely and tell me what Ned's bastard has to do with this."

Petyr spared no delay as he got to his feet. "Before I came here, I stopped at Winterfell to visit an old friend of mine, Lady Catelyn Stark. We got into conversation about the boy and I learned that he was born in Dorne around the same time that Ned Stark found his sister. He came back with a baby and told the world that Lyanna died of a fever. But what if that wasn't the case? What if she died giving birth to Rhaegar's product of rape to her? I didn't think twice on it, but the boy bares a remarkable resemblance to Rhaegar."

"Are you saying that Ned lied to me and is hiding a fucking dragon spawn as his own son?"

"The bastard may be a Targaryen, but if what I saying is true, then he is also a Stark. You know Eddard Stark better than most people in the world. If he had the choice between protecting the blood of his sister at the cost of his honor or letting the baby befall the same fate of his half siblings, which would he choose?"

Robert wanted to punch Petyr for insulting Ned's loyalty to him, but he couldn't stop himself from considering the possibility. Ned was very opposed to the justice served to Elia and her children. He remembered Ned telling him that a child is not guilty of the sins of the father. Could the bastard really be Rhaegar's? The only way to know for sure was to see the boy himself. Robert had Rhaegar's face memorized from every time he killed him in his dreams, and if there was enough of a resemblance…

"Tomorrow I begin the ride for Winterfell. When I get there, I'll see for myself if there is any resemblance. If there isn't and I find out that you've tried to play me into turning on a man I consider my brother, then I'll have you suffer the same fate Rhaegar did, expect it will be your head that meets my hammer."

"But if I'm right?" Petyr asked, keeping himself calm and composed.

"Then I'll rain hell on Ned for betraying me like this."

"If you plan on declaring war against the Starks," Petyr interjected, "I would advise you not to. For it would be a war you wouldn't win."

"You dare-"

"I only say that based on the odds, and when you look at them, they are not in you favor. If you declare war on the North, it won't just be them you'll have to face. Eddard Stark's good father, Hoster Tully, will side with him to protect his daughter and grandchildren. Lord Jon Arryn, though loyal to you, favors Ned more and sided with him when Aegon and Rhaenys were displayed in the throne room of the Red Keep, and would most likely give the Vale to him. Dorne may take this chance to seek revenge against you, and the Reach is a wild card, having reason to side with either you our Ned Stark. Should they desire favors from the crown, they'll surrender to loyalty to you. But if they see that Ned Stark would be better to side with for certain reasons, then you'll lose the greatest number of soldiers in Westeros. Should the odds become the worst, it will be a war of ten against one."

"And what 'certain reasons' would there be for the Reach to side with the North than instead of the crown?" Robert inquired.

Petyr cleared his throat and looked nervous to answer. " I mean no insult directly, but while there are those in court that call you the King of the Stags, there are also those that call you the King of the Drunks and Whores. Personally I always keep respect highest to those that clearly have the reasons to have it. But for others it is transforming into humor for them.

Robert knew how people saw him as a king. Nothing but a drunken man getting fat and who does nothing but whore and feast. As much as Robert didn't want to admit, but the man was right. Robert knew war better than being a King, and should the realms flock to Ned, then he would lose.

"But there is a way you can win the war before it even begins."

Robert had to take a moment to realize what he was doing. Plotting against Ned? What was the matter with him? For all he knew this flesh peddler could be playing him. But then again, what if Baelish was right? What if Ned is hiding a Targaryen? Maybe Ned sought to replace him with the little bastard on the Iron Throne.

"Go on."


	3. Chapter 3

Cat

 _-Ned_

 _I cannot express in mere words my reaction to what you have told me in your last letter. Harboring a hostage as a ward, and a Greyjoy of all people. Why on earth would you accept such a responsibility like that? When you return, I would have further words and plead you to convince Robert to change his mind. For the first time, there will be someone I tolerate less than your bastard._

 _-Catelyn_

In truth, Catelyn still loathed the bastard's presence more than she would a Greyjoy. But at least Snow knew his place and kept to himself at most times. A Greyjoy would probably bring with him a fowl influence, vile attitudes and sinful desires. But as much as she wanted to worry about that, she would have to wait until Ned got here since she was up to her waist in duties and preparations for a feast demanded by the King himself and overseeing that everyone did pulled their weight.

Though winter was over, the stores of grain and other food would have to last another six months before the crops would be bearing eligible food to eat, and a feast would only shorten their supply even faster.

Catelyn was in the Great Hall with Maester Luwin, observing the servants setting up the platform for the High Table and decorations along the walls. The candle stands were cleaned of hardened wax covering the metal and polished. A tapestry of the castle was taken down and replaced by Banners of the Northern Houses that fought, Stark, Mormont, Tallhart, Glover. In the center of them was newly made Banner for House Baratheon. The North wasn't the fanciest of places, but as long as it appeared cleaned and at least half as good as Riverrun would be like hosting a feast, then it would suffice.

"Have you checked our food stores?" Catelyn asked Maester Luwin.

"Yes, my Lady. We were conservative of our rations during the Winter and have just enough to spare for such an occasion. So long as the King and his personal guard are the only ones that come, we have nothing to worry about."

"And what about my father, did he accept the invitation to join us? He did fight for the King after all, he might as well be celebrated as well."

"He had to decline, my Lady. Your brother Edmure wrote that he has fallen sick with a small fever. Nothing to serious, but enough to keep him bed ridden."

This disappointed Catelyn. After having a visit from Petyr, a bit of nostalgia for home arose within her and she hoped that her father would be able to meet his grandchildren, especially his new grandson.

Something troubling took her mind off her father as she noticed a miscount of chairs being placed at the High Table. Including the children, save for Bran, there should only be six chairs, but there was seven. "Who's the extra seat for?" Catelyn inquired.

"Extra seat?" Maester Luwin asked, confused.

"There are seven seats at the High table, but there should only be six. One for the King, obviously, Ned and myself, Robb, Sansa, and Arya. Bran is far too young."

"My Lady, I believe the 'extra' seat is for Jon."

"The bastard? Who thought to seat him there?"

"I did, Lady Stark. He is our Lord's son after all."

Catelyn became infuriated that Maester Luwin would even think to involve little demon in something of such great prestige. "He's a bastard. He will sit with the masses and be grateful that he even gets to be in the same castle as the King."

"Lady Catelyn, I don't think that would-"

"That is my command to you." She looked at him sternly in the eyes and didn't blink until he submitted.

"Yes, my Lady. I'll have the arranging fixed before the day's end."

Catelyn left the Great Hall and Maester Luwin followed her outside to the courtyard. "Have the hunters return yet?"

"They returned an hour ago. Their haul consists of two full grown deer, a two dozen rabbits, a doe, and a wild boar. That should be more than enough to feed everyone in attendance."

"Lord Stark and the King are left Castle Cerwyn three days ago. We need the meats the hunters bring skinned and cured before the get here. What about the children? Have they been groomed yet?"

"Tommy is trimming them this very moment."

Catelyn didn't want to say it, but she didn't have much of a choice. "Make sure Snow looks his finest as well. I don't need him being a sulking mess when Lord Stark returns."

Catelyn scanned the walls and saw very few men standing by on watch. Ser Rodrick was being assisted by Hodor nearby at the stables and noticed her approaching him.

"Lady Stark." He said with a bow of his head.

"Hodor." The giant man said with a smile as always.

"Ser Rodrick, when the men return, I want the guard to be doubled." Balon may have surrendered, but that didn't mean his war was over. "Some Ironborn might seize this chance to take revenge for their so called King of the Iron Islands."

"I doubt that will be the case as long as we have the heir to the Greyjoy's as a hostage, but I'll see to it that it's tripled."

There was a sudden sound of a girl crying that broke through the noise all around. Catelyn and those around her turned their heads and saw Sansa running through the courtyard, her arm was covering her face in an obvious attempt to hide her tears.

"Sansa!" Catelyn got in her way and knelt down to her daughter. "What on earth is the matter?"

Sansa's eyes were red from her tears and she looked absolutely miserable. "Arya!" She nearly screamed out. "She pulled my hair when I was getting it cut and Tommy took off too much!" Sansa grabbed a lock of her red hair and revealed that it was cut short to her shoulders. It was visibly obvious and no chance whatsoever to be hidden.

"Come here," Catelyn pulled Sansa into her arms and hugged her softly and rubbed her back. Though her duties as Lady of the castle were keeping her busy, she also had her duties as a mother to tend to as well. She turned her attention back to Rodrick and Maester Luwin. "Let's conclude our business for now, but we'll resume before the evening."

They both bowed their heads and went about their business.

Cat turned her gaze to the great giant of a man. "Hodor, would you mind finding Arya and bringing her to her nursemaid? I think she needs to go to bed."

"Hodor." He said happily as he walked away.

"I hate her!" Sansa confessed. "She's always acting like a stupid boy and embarrassing me! Now I'm going to look hideous in front of father!"

"Now Sansa, Arya's just a little babe who doesn't understand half the things she does."

"But she was laughing at me when she did it."

That didn't surprise Catelyn. Arya was very wild for a babe, even for a person. It was she had wolf blood in her. But given that she was the only one of her children that did look more Stark than Tully, it made sense.

"Just giver her time. She still has much growing up to do, and soon the two of you will become inseparable. Now come on, let's go see if Tommy can fix what's been done." Catelyn took Sansa's hand and walked her back to Tommy's workplace.

When they got there, Robb waited patiently as the bastard got his hair cut. Neither he nor Tommy notice Catelyn and Sansa walking in.

"Honestly Snow," Tommy say as he did the bastard's ends, "do these curls ever end?"

Robb seemed to get a laugh out that. "If he were a girl he'd be the prettiest one from the Wall to Dorne!" He teased.

"Shut up Stark!" Snow spat back.

Robb merely laughed at him until he realized Catelyn and Sansa. "Mother!" Robb straightened himself and Tommy flinched as made another cut, missing his intended mark.

"Dammit!" Tommy exclaimed. "I swear I've never missed once until you children came into my care."

Catelyn cleared her throat and gained Tommy's attention. He turned to look at her and became wide eyed. "Lady Stark. Forgive me, I was focusing on the boy and didn't realize you were there."

"I noticed." Catelyn looked down at the bastard and saw that he was the only one that wasn't looking at her, or rather he wouldn't because that was the was she preferred it. The less she had to see the face that was her husband's and the whore he soiled his honor with. "Are you done with him? I'd like for the 'accident' that happened to Sansa be fixed as quickly as possible."

Before Tommy could answer, the bastard got out of the seat and backed away. At least he knew his place. "Robb, why don't the two of you go get fitted."

"But mother," Robb groaned, "those suits are itchy."

"If you'd rather be at the feast naked for all to see, then go get fitted." Robb growled at her and placed his arm over Snow's shoulders.

"Come on Jon. If I to suffer this then so do you."

Catelyn watched as the two of them left but before they got out of sight Snow turned his head and made eye contact with her for only a brief second before shooting his head back to looking forward. She never could understand why Robb had such an attachment to the wretched creature. Then again, Snow was the boy in the castle that was Robb's age, or even close to it.

"Now then," Catelyn said as she turned back to Tommy, "let's fix this mess." Sansa sat down in Tommy's chair and he began to inspect her hair.

"No hair in the North is as red as yours little lady. Have no fear, when I'm done with it, you'll still be the prettiest girl in all the North." He cut of a long lock of Sansa's hair to match the length.

"I thought you said Jon was the prettiest." Sansa said.

Tommy just chuckled at her. "That's if he was a girl. But now that I think about, he probably is the prettiest boy in the North too." Sansa finally broke out of her saddened mood and giggled.

"Jon is pretty, isn't he." Sansa commented as Tommy lopped off more of her hair.

"That's enough, Sansa." Catelyn told her. Before turning her attention to Tommy. "She's in your hands now. Don't let me down."

"Would never dream to, milady." Tommy told her.

Catelyn returned to Ser Rodrick and Maester Luwin's company in her chambers. "Have the preparations for the King's chambers been made yet?"

"All but the wine and ale that was requested." Maester Luwin informed.

"Might want to put a whore in there as well." Ser Rodrick commented.

Catelyn scowled at ser Rodrick for his poor taste in humor, but the look on his face said that he wasn't joking. "I'll let that one slide, but please refrain from such remarks, Ser Rodrick."

"Forgive me, my lady."

Catelyn skimmed through three letters at once from the Northern Houses, all of them congratulating her for her husband's victory. She still had many more to go through, but the next scroll was sealed with the mark of the King's Hand. She broke the seal and unraveled the parchment.

 _-Ned_

 _I received your raven from Torrhen's Square and I apologize for not writing sooner. With Robert not returning to the capitol, I've been given more work than I can handle. In regards to the Greyjoy boy, I urge you to keep him safe within Winterfell's walls. The court is in turmoil against the Ironborn, calling for their extermination and islands to be burned, but they are too coward to say it and hide their feelings behind those smug faces of theirs. Enough convincing and who knows what they'd do to the child if he was brought here. All I can do is wish you luck and offer guidance when you need it._

 _-Jon Arryn, Hand of the King Robert Baratheon_

Though Catelyn had to read many of the ravens meant for need, this one probably should have been for him alone. But regardless, she knew that once Ned read this he would be adamant to keep the Greyjoy boy in Winterfell. She sighed out as she rolled the scroll back up.

"Maester Luwin," she said.

"Yes?"

"See to it that Theon Greyjoy is given a proper bedroom rather than the guest room. It looks like he will be staying here after all."

He nodded solemnly to her before there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Catelyn called.

The door opened and one of Maester Luwin's assistants walked in. "Forgive me, milady," The man said, "but a raven came just now. It's from Lord Stark."

"Thank you. I'll take it." Catelyn held out her arm and the man placed the scroll in her hand and left. She unraveled it and read through it's contents. "Maester Luwin, tell the servants to double their work efforts. The King's party will be arriving tomorrow morning."

* * *

Ned

When Winterfell came into sight, the rebellion truly felt over and a weight lifted from Ned's heart. Though it wasn't even a year of a war, it felt much longer. He was finally home, finally able to see his children, and finally able to see Cat.

"Oh Ned," Robert slapped him hard on the back, "never has any castle marveled me more than Winterfell. It's not a giant set of perfumed glittering towers like the Red Keep, but a proper fortress as mighty as its history. No other like it in the world and not reeking of shit."

"You flatter me Robert. But if you're swooning this much, I hope you don't try to bed it when you get drunk." Ned jested. The two of them shared some laughter as brothers would. Robert once talked with him during the Rebellion about a possible union between their houses to seal their brotherhood but given that none of their children were even a decade into this world, Ned convinced him to wait.

Robert turned his head to everyone following on horseback. "Do you see this place, Greyjoy? Grander than those shit piles of rubble you Ironborn call castles."

As quickly as the mood rose, it was fast to fall. "Oh come on Ned," Robert said gruffly, "the moment I leave, that sulking mess will be nothing but what his people are. A snarky idiot with squid shit for brains. I swear, if he so much as lays a finger on your daughters, send word and I'll raise the Iron Islands to the ground."

"You doubt that I can make a man out of him?" Ned asked.

"Not all, but he will still be a boy long before that. And you and I both know how heated boys can get." Robert replied.

"I know how heated 'you' can get." Ned corrected. "If I remember correctly, I was in the training yard of the Eyrie while you were the one peeping into the women's baths."

"And the one time you finally came with me, you got caught." Robert laughed hoarsely again while Ned just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

 _'Actually, you got so drunk that you thought I was with you the entire time.'_ Ned kept his thoughts to himself as the rode through the gates of the castle. There they were, Cat, Robb, Sansa, Arya, and little Bran in the arms of his nursemaid. And behind them was Jon, hiding as always. Everyone bowed to their knees as he and Robert dismounted before the rest of the entourage.

"Rise up," Robert ordered. "I'm not one to keep a husband from his wife." Cat smiled as she got to her feet and was met with a tight embrace by Ned. They were surrounded by their children and their legs were squeezed with hugs. Though Jon remained where he was, but he had a happy look on his face which was pleasing to see given that it was rare for him to look that way.

Ned was finally released and he finally got a good look at his children.

"Father!" Robb said excitedly, "were the battles spectacular?"

 _'They never are.'_ "I'll be sure to tell you of all the adventures that happened. He turned his attention to Sansa and noticed something very odd. "Sansa, your hair." It was cut short and styled into a single short braid. Sansa began to look worried before Cat gave slight cough and gestured to her. "It looks very nice that way." Ned told her. Sansa brightened up before Arya stole the attention.

"Papa!" she called out. "Papa, up!" She held her arms out to be picked up, but given the current situation, he would have to postpone some time with his daughter.

"Tonight we'll play together, I promise my little wolf." She looked disappointed, but still remained happy. Finally, Bran. Ned leaned into the nursemaid and looked down at his sleeping son. "He looks strong."

Ned stepped back and allowed Robert his turn for introductions.

"Your grace." Cat said with a curtsey.

"Cat," Robert said, "you look absolutely wonderful." He gave her a friendly hug before turning his attention to the children. "Well now, you must be Robb."

Robb grew a big smile on his face. "Yes, your grace."

"Come on, show us all your muscles." Robb flexed his arm and Robert gave it a good squeeze. "You're gonna grow up to be stronger than your father." He turned his attention to Sansa. "And look at you. The ladies of the court would jealous of hair that gorgeous." Sansa so happy she was lost for words. "And that little rascal," He said looking at Arya, "she probably has wolf blood in her veins, just like her aunt." No doubt about that. Ever since Arya could crawl she was full of energy. The nursemaid stepped forward and presented Bran to him. Robert turned somber as he gazed down at Bran. "Looks just like my firstborn before I lost him." He turned to face Ned. "He'll be a strong lad when he grows up." He turned his gaze back to the children and looked directly at Jon. "well now, you must be the one they call Jon Snow."

Jon looked up and was absolutely surprised that Robert was talking to him. Cat did her best to hide a scowl, but she wasn't doing it very well.

"You're the first of Ned's children I ever met, did you know that?"

"No, your grace." Jon managed to speak out.

"Don't be shy lad, step forward so I can have a look at how much you've grown."

Jon looked like he didn't know what to do. He looked panicked and absolutely terrified.

"It's alright Jon," Ned said calmly, "step forward."

Jon slowly eased up in front of Robert and was gazed at for an awkward length.

"I see," Robert said. Ned could've sworn he heard a bit of anger in Robert's words. "He looks more Stark than your trueborn Ned." Robert chuckled heartedly and was the only one who found amusement in that. If anyone besides the King of Westeros said that, she might've started to beat them then and there. The only joy Ned took from that was the part of Jon that needed to be kept hidden stayed that way.

Ned held back a sigh of relief as Jon stepped back behind the other children. "Come on Ned," Robert said, "I wish to pay my respects to your dead. Selmy, Kingslayer, do something useful and give me some peace."

"By your order, your grace." Ser Barristan replied.

As Ned followed Robert, he could hear the excitement of Robb realizing who came with them.

"You're Ser Barristan Selmy? The greatest knight in the whole world!?"

In the darkness of the crypts, the only light illuminating the shadows was that of a torch in Ned's hand. The two of them stood before the statue of Lyanna Stark in silence.

Ned didn't recognize the statue that tried to be his sister, the stone couldn't capture the beauty she was. But still, it had the same presence as the other statues. She was watching them, but Ned especially. Those cold eyes were whispering the words she ever spoke. 'Promise me Ned, promise me.'

Robert laid a hawk feather he found on the journey to the castle in Lyanna's hand and gazed up her face. "Why did you have to bury her down here in the cold and the darkness? She belongs on a hill, with the sun and clouds above her." Robert felt the check of her face with his hand, half expecting it to actually be her.

"She was my family," Ned told him, "and she belongs down here with her family."

"She belonged with me." Robert said firmly.

 _'And that's why she didn't love you. She wasn't some prize you could have.'_

"In my dreams, I kill him every night. But no matter how many times I do it, he just comes back to die again."

"The Targaryens are gone, Robert."

"Not all of them." Robert said furiously. "Once that fool at Castle Black withers into dust and ash, and the last of the Mad King's spawn lie die in the gutter, then they will be gone."

"They are children Robert. They played no part in the crimes of their brother and father."

Robert sighed and turned to face Ned. "We're brothers Ned, in all things but blood. King's Landing is nothing but a cesspool of highborn cunts and glamorous arses. And all of them are a bunch of lying idiots. You're the one of the only people I trust in the world. Yet you talk of sparing them, why?"

This was the first time Ned was ever in such a position. Jon Arryn was the only one to share his ideals to leave the other two children of Aerys Targaryen alone. "Aegon and Rhaenys were children, Robert. And you rewarded the men who butchered them. You are a brother to me, but that I can't forgive you for doing."

"Forgive? They were the spawn of the man who raped your sister and the woman I loved."

"And what part did they play in all that? What conspiracies did a girl of seven and a babe create to threaten your reign?"

Robert didn't say anything to him, he only looked hard at Ned. "As long as the Mad King's children stay in Essos, I don't give two shits about them. They'll fall dead before I can send a knife in the dark to do the job."

Considering how Robert was, this was about the most mercy he would ever give to the Targaryens.

"What in the name of gods' is wrong with me. I'm here for a feast, not quarrels with you." He slapped Ned on the back and led him out of the crypts.

Something didn't feel right about Robert, but Ned couldn't put his finger on it. He was probably still in a state of caution from the war, but some time celebrating the victory would take the edge out of him.

There was still quite a lot of time before then, so Ned had taken to being with his family. Inside his chambers, Ned held Bran in his arms as the small baby started to grab at his doublet. Cat, however, was at a small table prematurely drinking wine before the feast and was ranting on about the King's comment about Jon.

"He looks more Stark than our true born! Seven damn him to the deepest hells!" Given how much pride Cat had in their children, Ned didn't blame her for being angry. But Robert wasn't wrong. All of Ned's children had the Tully look except for Jon and Arya. Though Robb's hair was slightly darker than when Ned left for war, so maybe there would be more of a change later on in their lives.

"Cat, he was drinking on the way here. He didn't realize what he was saying."

"But we did, and so did all of the entire castle!" She slammed her cup on the table but misplaced the landing and the cup fell to the ground and broke. "Seven hells!" Bran started to fuss from her shouting as she buried her face in her hands.

Ned walked over and sat in a chair adjacent to her while rocking Bran in his arms.

"I can't handle him anymore." Cat confessed.

Ned couldn't imagine how Jon Arryn was able to do it if Catelyn could barely last a single comment. "I'm sorry about Robert, cat. But he is the King-"

"I wasn't talking about him." She looked up from her hands and glared at him. "The bastard has to go."

Again, about Jon. Ever since he was brought to Winterfell she had done nothing but try to find any good reasons to force him away. And for every one of those reasons, Ned denied her requests. As long as he was Lord of Winterfell, then Jon would be protected within its walls.

"Jon is a Stark regardless or his name, whether you like it or not, and he belongs here." And there was no where safer to harbor a Targaryen than the place they are despised.

"Ned, I have put up with him for eight years. Send him to ward with another lord, let him join the Night's Watch, plead for Robert to let him squire for one of his Kingsguard, but I can't handle seeing a boy that is your blood than my children who have your name."

"And what wrongs has he done to deserve such an exile at a young age? Before I left, I watched him play with Robb like I did with my brothers at their age. He was kind to Sansa, and Arya was unusually attached to him. So what sins did he commit to our children that deserve that need justice?"

This was the second time he was having this kind of conversation in one day, and it was getting tiring. But Ned would never stop fighting to keep his promise to protect his blood, regardless of who else's run's through Jon's veins.

Catelyn looked upset, as usual. "Tell me this at least. Why do you love him more than your own children?" She wouldn't dare ask a question like that sober. She hadn't drunken much, but enough that she wouldn't hold back.

"For you to think that I would breaks my heart. I love all my children to the ends of the earth and would die for every one of them ten times over." Bran started to cry out and fuss in Ned's arms.

"He needs to be fed," Catelyn said as she took Bran from Ned's arms.

Ned got up from his seat and went for the door. Before he left, he turned back to Cat as she exposed her breast and let Bran suck at it. "I'll think about sending Jon to ward with someone in the North, but until I do we'll speak no more of it."

A spark of hope shown in Cat's eyes as she looked up to him, surprised that she actually might get what she wanted as far as Jon went. But Ned only half meant it. As far as he was concerned, the only one besides himself he could trust with Jon's care was Howland. But he couldn't help but imagine him breaking the secret to Jon before he needed to know it. There was always… no. Ned was promised that he would stay in Essos to protect the other two Targaryens. Besides, even if Ned wanted to find him, he didn't know how. What was he supposed to do, ask the Spider in King's Landing where a long dead knight was?

Too many risks, but the Night's Watch on the other hand. It was nothing but a den of murderers and rapists who escaped justice. But there were good men there too. No matter what people south of the Neck said, every Northerner still considers it an honor to take the black and protect the realms from Wildings.

Benjen was rising high in the ranks himself. Only twenty years old and the Master of Arms at Castle Black. Ned was certain that was Ser Jaxley Rowan either died or went missing beyond the Wall, Benjen were take his place as First Ranger.

The Starks have manned the Wall for thousands of years, and many of them rose to high positions. The Greyjoy Rebellion won't be the last war in Westeros, and who knows how long it would be until a War was brought to the North. Maybe the safest place for Jon would be the one place that took no part in the wars of man.

But Ned completely forgot to think about what Jon would want. In the end, the choice should be his. But first, Ned would take care of feeding Robert.

When he got to the courtyard, he saw Robb and Arya lingering around Ser Barristan. It sounded like Robb was trying to beg for a lesson from the old knight. Jon on the other hand was with Ser Jorah and the red priest, Thoros of Myr. The red priest hadn't had a drink for two days so no would be the best time to have a sober conversation with the man.

Ser Jorah was holding his family's Valyrian sword in his hands, kneeling down and showing the blade to Jon.

"It's a beautiful sword." Jon told the Bear Knight.

"Beautiful," Jorah replied, "strong, and unbreakable. It's my family's Valyrian steel sword, Longclaw. But you should see his." Ser Jorah gestured to Thoros, "he can light his blade in flames."

"You know magic?" Jon asked the priest.

"It's a gift the Red God bestows upon his followers. I don't know that the Seven give gifts like to their followers."

Thoros wasn't as enthusiastic to reveal his sword to marvel Jon like Ser Jorah, but still he amused him.

Ned walked up to the strange trio and they stood at attention when they saw him. "Lord Stark," Ser Jorah said as he sheathed his sword.

"Ser Jorah, Thoros. Is my son giving you trouble?"

"Not at all," Thoros replied, "but I wouldn't mind if he was giving us drinks instead." He jested. Jon got a laugh out of that surprisingly and almost went to go get them something. "I was only joking, little lord. There will be plenty of drinks tonight I hope."

"If the King leaves any for us that is." Ser Jorah said. Ned couldn't hold back his laughter at the truth of that, but he made sure to keep it low.

Ned noticed Theon standing by the stables under guard. "Jon, come with me."

"Yes Lord Stark." Jon excused himself from Ser Jorah and Thoros' company and followed Ned. "When Lady Stark isn't around, you can call me father, Jon."

"I'm sorry father."

"It's nothing to be sorry about, but remember that you are still my blood and my son." Ned and jon stood before the two men guarding Theon. "You may take your leave."

"Yes, Lord Stark." They said in unison as the walked away.

"Jon, this is Theon Greyjoy. He will be my ward to ensure peace between the Iron Islands and the rest of Westeros."

"Hello." Jon greeted but only a scowl from Theon in return.

"You're the Bastard of Winterfell, aren't you?" Theon asked with his arms crossed.

Jon felt belittled at that name he earned.

"This is Jon, Theon. One of my sons you'll grow up with. I would suggest you start with a polite first impression since you'll be here for a long while." Theon just rolled his eyes and sighed out. "Jon, why don't you get Robb and the two of you show Theon around the castle?"

"Yes father." Jon obeyed. "Come on, I'll take you to my brother."

Jon led Theon out of the stables over to Robb and Ser Barristan. Ned hoped with all his heart that things would go well with the boy. So far they were, and Cat didn't even bring up the subject of him in their chambers. But with everyone else settling in, all that was left was to celebrate the night away.


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter has been rewritten. One, I forget something at the very end, literally one sentence. Two, I did a major facepalm when I learned that Jorah Mormont has not met Lynese Hightower yet.**

 **ages have been adjusted from book and Canon**

 **Eddard-26, Catelyn-25, Robert-27, Jon and Robb-8, Theon-9, Sansa-5, Arya- 2, Bran-1, Jorah-34, Petyr-21, Benjen-20**

 **If you go to the story on Archive of Our Own, you can get the links to devianart to see my sketches Thoros mentions to Ser Jorah**

* * *

Jorah

The feasts of Bear Island did not compare to the likes this one. The Great Hall of Winterfell was overflowing with delicious food, booming music, fine ales, and bellowing cheers. The smell of roasted meats overpowered all smells and would make any man's mouth water for just a taste. Northerners were never prone to dance, but the music that sang from the lute playing created a feeling within everyone that made them want to move to the sound.

Jorah tore into a piece of venison covered in a thin layer of honey, the sweetness mixing with the juices of the meat made him forget savoring the taste and only desire devouring more. His lips were stained with the color of the meat and he didn't care one bit. He may be a lord and a newly appointed knight, but he was exhausted from war and riding and wanted nothing more than to have a night to forget it all. All he needed after the feast was a woman, but he was prone to remain celibate until he remarried.

Thoros of Myr had gotten so drunk that he was standing on the table, horn of ale in hand and spilling much of his drink, recalling a tourney he fought in years before.

"All the gods must've loved that fat knight for putting a river right near us!" Thoros bawled out. "That squire of his was a fool to put an extra coat of oil on his armor. I thought I converted the poor man when his legs burst into flame! I'd nearly finished praising the Lord of Light before he jumped into the water and near drown himself trying to douse the flames!"

The entire table erupted with laughter, one man laughed so hard he belched out for the entire mass to hear. The King took notice of such an outburst and laughed louder than anyone. It felt like a competition to see who could be the loudest.

Despite all the cheer going around, there were still those that were glum in the celebration. The Kingslayer for one, though he always looked unhappy even when he smiled. But his smiles were only those that mocked everyone around him. The others that shared his mood did not surprise at all. Theon Greyjoy and Lord Stark's bastard boy. The two of them were seated together at the end of the table opposite of Jorah. Young Jon Snow was eating his food quiet as a mouse while the Greyjoy lad was stealing unattended horns of ale. He was still settling in, yet he did not seem at all afraid to show some defiance.

Jorah couldn't help but feel a bit of pity for the new ward of Lord Stark. He was barely a boy and already swallowed by the waves of war. Jorah remembered when he was that age. His father would watch him and his aunt Maege in the training yard spar together. Every once in a while, old Jeor would train with them which would eventually lead to all of them wrestling together like the bears that emblazoned their banners. His days as a boy were the better than he ever could have asked for.

Theon Greyjoy would soon learn that his remaining years of boyhood would be spent as a hostage of war. But as long as he remained ward to Lord Stark, things might turn out better than they would if he were sent elsewhere.

"Nice lad, that Snow boy." Thoros said as he dropped his arse on the seat next to Jorah. "Never seen someone ogle Valyrian steel like him. What was your sword's name again? Longfang? Longcock?"

"Longclaw." Jorah corrected. He didn't blame Thoros for his mistake, but he couldn't believe how drunk a priest could get.

"Longclaw. Didn't know bears had claws that long. But it's the sword that counts, right? I've seen more than most would in one lifetime. Honor, Stardrop, Demonite, even that axe the Celtigars have. Calamity, that's the name. And that gigantic great sword wielded by Ser Gregor. They've all clashed with my burning steel, and all of them were defeated."

"My father once told me it's the hand that wields the sword that wins the fight."

Thoros broke out in drunken laughter. "Wiser words never spoken. Too bad I won't remember them by morning." He pressed the rim of his horn and let the rest of the ale flow down his throat, not giving a care for the trickles that spilled onto his red robe. Though if he continued as he was, his robe might turn brown before the night's end.

Jorah didn't know much about the followers of the Lord of Light, but surely this red priest of theirs was doing something blasphemous to their teachings. "I have to know, how does man like you-"

"Drunk," Thoros told him, "how does a drunk like me, what?"

"You don't seem very devoted to your god."

"Neither do you, or any of you northerners. In all the time I've been with you lot I haven't so much as seen any of you pray to a single tree."

"Weirwoods, we pray where we feel the need and keep the heart trees sacred."

Thoros looked at him curiously. "Fair enough." He set his horn down on the table and brushed the drops of ale out of his ginger colored beard. "I was never a devote follower to begin with. Eighth son of my father, what good was I to him. Sent me to become a priest, but I didn't give a single damn what he wanted. I drank and whored since as long as I can remember. I was sent here to convert Aerys Targaryen to the Red Faith, look how well that turned out. Then I saw his grandchildren, before and after they were killed. That's when I realized the truth."

"Truth?"

"No matter how much devotion, no matter how much faith, the gods we worship are nothing more than glorified ideas. In the end, there's only man and his thoughts."

"But your blade, you ignite it with the fire of your god."

"What men see is just a cheap trick. I just rub some colored wildfire on the blade and poof! They all cower before the flaming sword. In the end, it's all just cheap tricks and deception that win the battles."

There was truth to that. Jorah always wielded his sword with honor, but not all battles were fought with steel.

"Aye, wiser words never spoken." Jorah took a long swig of his ale, hoping that it would be enough to distract him from his problems.

Thoros joined him for one last drink as he stood up from the table. "If you'll excuse me, it's time I end the night with nice warm woman, and there's a brothel not too far from here."

Thoros found a serving girl with a wooden tray of filled horns and took one on his way out of the Great Hall. That same girl nearly dropped the tray as the King pulled her into his arm and buried his face in the cleavage of her breasts. She didn't seem to mind, in fact she teased him for more. Sadly for her, Robert belched right in her path and she got full blast of the stink. Robert Baratheon looked dazed and dizzy and would have nearly fallen to the ground had a man not caught him and sat him down.

"The King can't hold his ale!" Another man called out. The entire hall erupted in laughter, save Lady Stark and a few of the children. Even Ser Jaime looked amused, but probably at the sorry display that was the king.

As the King got to his feet, Jorah noticed him slipping a hand inside his yellow and black doublet and pull out a small vial of something. He quickly uncorked it and drank its contents with haste. Whatever it was, it must've had quite the kick to it because the King near immediately became wide eyed and merry once again.

Whatever kind of concoction that was, Jorah couldn't help but fantasize having a vial for himself. If so little a drink could give a man so much energy, then a night with a beautiful woman would never end.

He took one last bite of the venison on his plate before standing up to leave. The smell of food was starting to be replaced by the smell of men, and he wanted some fresh air.

Hand resting on the bear head pommel of Longclaw, Jorah walked outside to Winterfell's courtyard, to a night that was a clear moonless sky filled only with the light of the stars. The air was cold but pure. The way it always was in the North. Jorah stood still and took a deep breathe, letting himself be filled with the essence of his home. Everything was silent at first, but the sound of whacking disturbed the peace. The noise was coming from the training yard.

Jorah wandered into the training yard and saw the Bastard of Winterfell swinging a wooden sword at a target dummy. He was only eight, but he had good form and stance.

"Didn't enjoy the food?" Jorah asked, announcing his presence.

The bastard turned around, nearly startled, and saw Jorah watching him. "Lord Mormont."

"Jorah is just fine, young Snow. Or Ser Jorah. I'm an anointed knight now."

"Yes, Ser Jorah." He held the sword in both hands nervously and stood at respect for Jorah. "The food was tasty, but I snuck some ale and now I don't feel so good. Someone spilled something bitter in it."

Jorah chuckled lightly. "That's usually how the first taste starts. But usually its more flavorful." Jorah's eyes drifted to the dummy and he noticed the head took quite a beating. "You seem to take your practice seriously."

"Yes Ser, I want to be a great swordsman, like Aemon the Dragon knight or Ser Arthur Dayne."

"Ah, both are legendary fighters. One of them defeated by your father. So wouldn't he a great swordsman you would want to be like?"

Snow shook his head. "My father's a great lord not a swordsman, and I can never be what he is. I want to grow to up and be knight, known throughout all the seven kingdoms." The boy's eyes were flashing with determination.

"You already are known throughout the seven kingdoms. You're the Bastard of Winterfell." All hope died in Snow's eyes as the fell to the ground. Jorah didn't want to leave things this way. "So work hard, and soon you might become something greater than what you and the world sees you as. You can be Ser Jon, Knight of the Snowborn."

Jon looked back up at Ser Jorah with a glimmer of hope restored. "Knight of the Snowborn." He repeated. "I'll be the greatest knight of them all."

"A great knight should wield a great weapon." Jorah unsheathed Longclaw and held it by the blade gently in his hands, the handle towards Jon. The bastard's practice sword dropped to the ground as did his mouth. "Be careful, it may be lighter than most steel, but it still has a weight."

Jon slowly gripped Longclaw in both hands and lifted it up. It was heavy for the boy, but he had the strength to hold it up.

"At that size, it's like you're wielding your lord father's great sword."

From behind Jorah, a man's voice rang up. "A bastard sword for a bastard, rather fitting." Jorah and Jon both looked to see Ser Jaime Lannister sneaking up behind them with that smug grin of his.

"Kingslayer," Jorah said, "couldn't handle a Northern feast?"

"While it's nice to out of the smell of shit of King's Landing, I prefer it to a hall of drunken barbarians."

The damn Lannisters. All of them appeared as pretty as their gold, and all of them thought they were much greater in value. All because of the deeds of Tywin Lannister, the man who brought the power to their house.

"And you thought you could find none outside?"

"One can only hope. But alas, it appears the outdoors are home to bears and bastards."

Jon looked troubled every time Ser Jaime said the word bastard. He nervously and carefully handed the Valyrian sword back to Jorah. He sheathed it back into its scabbard.

"Don't look so glum, bastard," Jaime said, walking forward and brushing his hand in Jon's black curly hair, "tomorrow you get to learn from Ser Barristan the Bold and I. The King's ordered it for you and your half brother, you get to learn how men of summer fight." He gave a curt nod to Jorah and left the two of them alone.

"I'm jealous of you, young Snow."

"Really?"

"I would give anything to learn from Ser Barristan. And I cannot deny the skill Ser Jaime has."

Jon picked his practice sword off the ground and held it like a real sword. "One day," he said, "one day I will be a knight."

"Aye, and that will be the second to greatest day of your life."

"The second, what will be the greatest?"

"Finding the woman you love." Actually, it will be sharing a bed with her.

Jon looked near disgusted that Jorah would say such a thing. "Girls? The only ones I know live in Winterfell and they're all stupid. The just talk about princes and dresses."

Jorah laughed heartedly. "There's more than just this castle, and this country. An entire world is waiting for you to become a man and venture out into it."

"Have you seen the world, Ser?"

"I've seen my share. Furthest I've ever been from home is King's Landing. Though I doubt I'll travel further than that anytime soon. Maybe when I am nothing but gray hair and old bones I'll venture out to see more. But like you said, one day."

* * *

Eddard

"Arya!" Sansa called out after spitting out her drink. She and Robb both suffered from the mischief of their younger sister. While they were watching Robert make a fool of himself, Eddard noticed Arya slip by their sights and sprinkle salt into their cups. He wanted to say something, but the ale in his belly made him want to watch what would happen more. Arya was nearly three years old, yet she had a natural talent of stealth.

He placed a hand over his mouth to hide his grin and laughter from everyone. That is, everyone but Catelyn. She glared at him like she would to their children when they misbehaved.

"Forgive me, dear wife. Too much drinking has clouded my sense of maturity it would seem."

"Clearly." Catelyn told him. "Robb, take Arya to bed."

"But mother," Robb whined, "I haven't had any wine yet."

"Of course not, you're only eight. Now take your sister to bed before I have to do it to the both of you."

Robb clearly didn't want to go to bed yet seeing as how fast he got out of his seat and swooped Arya into his arms. She fussed in protest but his size was to great for her to overpower.

"I swear," Catelyn sighed, "I feel taming Arya to be a proper lady will be the greatest challenge of my life."

"Believe me," Ned told her, "my sister was just as wild as her. If my father could do it then so can we. We'll figure out some way or another."

While most took to eating the boar and the deer, Ned was drinking the rabbit stew by the bowl. He feasted on fish for far too long at Pyke and was lusting for Gage's cooking. The man knew how to make even the bitterest of things have a wonderful taste. His belly would definitely be bulging out by the time he went to bed, but not nearly as much as Roberts.

The hour had gone by quickly and the sound of the bard's song and the music of his lute had captured the spirits of a few drunken men. They started to sing and dance with the song. It would have been a merry time had they not all tripped over one another.

It took Ned a moment to realize that at the bottom of the pile of men was Robert, passed out and snoring as loud as he laughed.

With the King out for the count, the feast would be coming to a close very soon. Ser Jaime had returned to the King's aid and lifted Robert off the ground with the assistance of the bard. Ser Barristan took Robert by the legs and the three of them began to journey to Robert's chambers.

"I think it's time we all retire for the night." Ned said to Catelyn who agreed with him. "Will you see to Sansa? I have some business to do before I sleep myself."

"As you ask, my lord husband." Catelyn left the High table to tend to their children and Ned waited for her to leave. When she did, he got up from his seat and went into the remaining masses. There were less than two dozen men left in the Great Hall, and once Ned would leave, so would they.

Ned walked over to Theon Greyjoy. The boy looked so full he might burst if he ate anymore.

"Had enough, lad?"

The boy nearly burped when he spoke. "Too much food, I think."

This was the first time Ned saw Theon with any bit of joy to be in the North. He then noticed the many mugs that were scattered around him. "And too much to drink?"

Theon shrugged at him. "My father's not here to tell me no, so why not?"

"Because you're still just a boy and you're living in my care now. You'll be raised alongside my children, and you'll have to follow the same rules as them. Do you understand?"

Theon was going to answer, but his eyes widened instantly before he turned away and vomited heavily on the floor.

"Well, at least your first day will be one you'll remember." Ned patted Theon on the back as the boy let out more of what he just ate. "Come on, let's go find Maester Luwin."

Ned walked Theon to Maester Luwin's chambers to have him sorted out.

Luwin was asleep when they arrived, but in seconds was up and about mixing a medicinal brew for Theon. "It wasn't the food you ate, it was the drink. A boy your age shouldn't go near ales or wine. But luckily for you, Lord Stark's late brother Brandon was prone to such frivolities as you and I dealt with him many times."

Brandon always was wild and rebellious as long as Ned could remember him. In fact, he was much like how Robert is. Drinking and fighting. Though he had more sense keep away from whoring. But that didn't stop him from pursuing Ashara at Harrenhal.

Ned remembered those damned days they spent at that cursed castle. Wonderful memories were made, but that was how they began as. They all ended in hate and regret. Ned fell in love for the first time in his life, only to have that love bewitched from him by his own brother. The same thing happened to Lyanna, and she was foolish to fall for Rhaegar. If only she didn't ride for Howland, if only Rhaegar stayed true to his wife, if only the tourney never happened.

Ned shook his heads of these thoughts. There was nothing that could change what happened, and he wouldn't change any of it if it meant giving up his family for another. He loved them all with all his heart. But for Jon, he tried his best to. Every time he looked at him he only saw Lyanna and Rhaegar. Both someone he loved and someone he hated.

Rhaegar was a fool. A silver haired fool who betrayed everything he represented for love. But then again, Ned did the very same thing to keep Jon safe. He lied to Robert, Cat, Benjen, and the rest of the world. Only Three others alive knew the truth, and all of them had sworn to secrecy.

Maester Luwin poured a thick green liquid into a cup and gave it to Theon. "Drink up. It may taste like an old boot, but you'll feel right as rain in the morning."

Theon looked at him curiously and said. "Have many experiences eating old boots?" Ned snorted as Luwin had a look of defeat on his face. "You're the one who knows the taste apparently." He took the cup and downed the contents as fast as he could. He looked like he would vomit again before he swallowed it down. He coughed and hacked after that. "That tastes more like rotten seal meat."

Maester Luwin looked to Ned. "He'll be a handful this one."

"Without a doubt." Ned replied.

With Theon cared for, Ned escorted him to his chambers personally. At the door, Ned knelt down to Theon. "This is your room. My bastard's is just down the hall. If you need anything during the night go to him and he can help you. He's not one to sleep much unfortunately."

"Am I going to say my vows now?" Theon was starting to show some traces of drunkenness. Maester Luwin's medicine hadn't taken effect yet.

"Your vows?"

"I heard one of the guards joking that I might as well go to the Wall and take the black because I'll be here for this night and all the nights to come."

Ned felt ashamed of the courtesies within his castle walls. "Theon, I promised you that you won't be here forever. I intend to keep that promise." Theon didn't look convinced but nodded all the same. He entered his room and silently closed the door behind him.

Ned sighed as he walked through the halls of the castle. They were always warm He knew it was because of the pipes within the walls that carried the heat of the hot springs, but sometimes he liked to believe it was something more than that. His father once told him that the reason there were hot springs was because a dragon lived in the part of the crypts that were sealed off. Its breathe was so hot it heated the ground above it and the pools of water too. Ned missed his father dearly. He wished his father could see his grandchildren. Ned wished they could see him. But all that was left was a tomb and a memory.

Ned heard the sound of footsteps against the stone floor approaching him and he saw Ser Barristan approaching him. The old knight was dressed out of his white armor and cloak and in some fine brown leathers. But he kept his sword strapped at his side.

"Lord Stark."

"Ser Barristan."

"The King requests an audience before you retired for the night."

"He's awake already?"

"Quite so. It was a surprise to me as well." Robert usually had a full day's worth of rest before recovering from a feast like that. But maybe tonight he was just lucky. "Would you like my escort?"

"I feel safe enough in my castle, but I would enjoy the company."

The two of them walked together to Robert's solar he was given.

"You treat the Greyjoy boy well as far as I have seen." Barristan told Ned. "Better than anyone at court would."

"If he was sent to King's Landing he would be torn to pieces and only grow to hate the world his father tried to reave and plunder. Just another pirate from the Iron Islands. I hope I can change him enough that maybe he can put an end to all this."

Ser Barristan seemed glad to hear Ned say that. "Life is strange. It wasn't too long ago that you and I fought as enemies at the Trident."

"I'm glad we never met on the field Ser Barristan, as is my wife. I doubt that the widow's life would suite her."

Ser Barristan chuckled. "You're too modest. I've seen you cut down a dozen great knights and everyone knows of your victory against Ser Arthur. He never could best me, but he was the only man to ever bring me to a draw. It was an honorable thing you did to return Dawn to Starfall. Most men would have taken such a legendary blade for themselves or sold it for coin."

"I prefer to not be like most men."

"As do I. But there days when I question if I am a man with honor or just too stubborn to break my oaths as a Kingsguard."

"You're too hard on yourself. There is no knight more honorable than you."

"Honorable, maybe. But sometimes being that isn't enough. I stood vigil to Aerys Targaryen as he laughed at those he burned with Wildfire. Jaehaerys was a good man and a good king, but his health claimed him before he could do more of what he could. As for Robert…"

"You needn't say anything. He's a good man and a great warrior." But it takes more than that and a crown to be a king.

Knowing that they shouldn't speak ill of their King, Barristan merely nodded as they had arrived at the door, Ser Jaime standing guard.

"He's alone inside," Ser Jaime informed them, "so no need to worry of knocking." He didn't need to clarify to make sense that he meant whores.

Ned opened the door and saw Robert sitting on his bed with his hands rubbing his forehead.

"Ned, gods be damned, you Northerners know how to feast." Robert wanted to laugh, but he had too much of a headache. "Gods be damned." He sat up and approached a table with a tankard of wine.

"You sure wine is the right drink right now? I could have Maester Luwin bring you milk of the poppy."

"Fuck the milk of the- Ah!" He bent over in pain, leaning on the table and knocking his tankard over and spilling the wine one the floor. "On second thought, that might not be a bad idea. Did you here that Kingslayer!?"

"Yes, your grace." Ser Jaime replied through the door. "I'll be back shortly."

Robert sat down at the table and rested his elbows on a small pile of letters. "Do you know what these are?" He picked up some of the letters and let them slip through his fingers and fall to the floor. "I've just won a war yet I can't have a few weeks to catch my breath."

"My father once said that a crown should never rest comfortably on a king's head."

"So does Jon. Every time he begs me to attend the small council. One of these blasted things is from a lord who lost a son to the Greyjoys. Said the rebellion never would have happened if I did my job right as king."

"People grow angry when they suffer loss. Find something to give reason to why it happened."

"Aye, that they do." Robert pulled one of the letters out of the pile. "See this? It's from my daughter, can you believe that? So young and already knows how to read and write. She's pretty thing, and nothing like her mother. For that I'm happy. How old is your eldest, Ned? His name is Robb, am I correct?"

"Aye, he's eight."

"My girl just turned five. Same age as your little Sansa I think." Robert put the letter back on the table. "I want you to think about my proposal. A unity between our houses. Your son and my daughter. Not immediately of course and I make no demand of it. But when the boys ages enough, speak to him about it."

Ned wasn't sure how to feel. Robert was being sensible, and that was usually a quality he lacked very much. And what he was offering Ned was a great gift. "You honor me with such a proposal Robert. I cannot speak for my son of course, but I know that he will consider this greatly when he comes of age to understand."

"Yes, of course. It's just a thought for now." Robert gazed to the window of his room. "I don't want to go back Ned. Back to King's Landing or the smell of shit that never leaves. Nothing but perfumed arses of highborn twats and Lannisters. Everywhere I look in that city I see those golden haired idoits. The only one who keeps away from me is Cersei. Tries to hide my son Joffrey under her skirts instead of let him grow into a man."

"You're the king, Robert. You can do as you wish. But Aerys chose the same path, and we all know what happened to him."

As if on cue, Ser Jaime entered the King's solar with a vial of milk of the poppy in hand.

"Took you long enough Kingslayer." Robert scolded. "Forgive me Ned, I've kept you away from your wife for too long. Be gone with you."

"Thank you, your grace." Ned bowed his head and left. Robert wasn't wrong, he was eager to spend a night with Catelyn after too many away from her.

* * *

Catelyn

A warm night of feasting was ended with a warm night with Ned. He seemed extremely eager when he first entered her chambers that night. Even more so when he was certain that no one would disturb them. Nothing felt better than having him all to herself after months of them being apart. She wished moments like those would last forever.

Morning came faster than she wanted it to. The early spring days were short and the nights long, yet this one felt the opposite. Catelyn sat up in her bed and pull the fur covers to her bare skin to keep the cold away. Ned was looking out the window, naked and unfazed by the cold wind breezing by him. It always amazed her how resilient to the cold the men of the north were.

She didn't partake in the feast very much. She was still overcoming the wine she had this afternoon from her fit. But some good came out of her drunken chat with Ned. He told her of tomorrows planned training with the boys and the Kingsguard. As much as she didn't want to admit it, the bastard was more skilled than Robb when it came to the sword. If he could show some impressive display to either of the knights, maybe they would consider talking him as a squire and away from her home.

Then all she would have left to put up with was Theon Greyjoy. She wished no harm on the boy, but that didn't mean she wanted him here. So far, he kept to himself as much as the bastard did, but it would only be a matter him acting like an Ironborn unless Ned changed him into something better. To be honest, anything was better than an Ironborn.

She fell back across her bed stared at the ceiling. For a brief moment everything felt wrong. This room, this castle, all of it. It was the same feeling she would get whenever she visited Ned in the godswood. She didn't belong in the North. Her home was in Riverrun, a place that didn't snow in the summer and had more than just an empty wasteland surrounding it. Away from the cold, away from the Northmen, and away from the bastard.

"Morning, Cat." Ned said as he returned to the bed. "Did you sleep well?"

"Hardly slept at all." She smirked over at him. "Do we have to wake up?"

"If we don't our children will come bursting through that door. And if they see us like this… I don't think I'm ready to explain how things work yet."

"You don't have to. Robb learned about that while you were at war." Catelyn finally pulled the blankets off of her and got out of the bed. She wrapped a robe around herself and gestured to her nightstand. "There's a set of raven scrolls for you. I handled most of them and those were the ones congratulating you for the victory. One of them is from Castle Black. I guessing it's Benjen's response to my invitation I sent to him, though I suppose it doesn't matter anymore."

She found the one with the seal of black wax and gave it to Ned. He broke it open and read its contents looking pleased with what it had to say.

"Benjen was on a range when the raven from Winterfell arrived, but he's on his way and should arrive within a few days."

 _'If the knights don't grab the bastard's attention maybe Benjen and the Nightswatch will.'_ Catelyn thought. "It will be nice to have him around for a while. Robb always loves it when he visits."

The two of them bathed and dressed before joining the King and the children in the Great Hall to break their fast.

To Catelyn's pleasure, all of the children except for the bastard and Theon Greyjoy were present.

"Ned! Cat!" Robert called out. "Glad you could join us."

Ned led Catelyn to her seat before sitting himself down. They were served bacon with some bread and honey. Catelyn ate hers lightly compared to the King who was eating by the mouthful.

The King looked over at Ned after swallowing. "So Ned, have you spoken to your wife of my proposition?"

Proposition? What on earth could he be talking about?

"I have not, your grace. I was planning to tell in about an hour or so, once we've woken up fully."

"Your grace," Catelyn said, "what proposition would you be talking about."

Ned took her by the arm. "One that our children don't need to hear, not yet at least."

"Yes, give them a few years before they hear of it." The King said. "Speaking of your children, Ned, where's that bastard of yours and the Greyjoy? I would think that your own blood and your new ward would eat with you."

"My knowledge of their whereabouts is the same as yours, your grace." Ned replied.

Robb gulped down a bite of bread and honey before speaking up. "Jon already ate with Theon. I think they're both in the yard because Jon wanted to see who is better with a bow."

"Bow!" Arya chirped out.

The other children giggled at Arya's little outburst as did the King. Catelyn even caught Ned with a hint of a smile before he hid it away. She cleared her throat and her children ceased their laughter.

Robb wiped his mouth and set his plate aside. "Father, may I be excused?"

"You've hardly eaten." Ned told him. "Where is it you're off to?"

"I want to go watch Jon and Theon."

Ned Sighed. "Very well. Off with you."

As Robb left the table, he failed to notice he had a follower trailing behind him.

Catelyn called out to her daughter. "Arya, get back here."

Arya's only reply was _bow_.

Catelyn sighed out as she got from the table and chased her down. Robb was kind enough to stop at the door and block Arya's way of escape. Arya began fuss at Robb before Catelyn picked her up. "Arya, you are to stay away from the training yard."

Arya squirmed and fought against her mother. "No! No! No! Want out! Watch bow! Watch Jon!"

Catelyn nearly froze when Arya said the bastard's name. She was of few words, but this was the first time she ever said Snow's name. This moment gave Arya the chance to fall out of her arms and run away.

"Mother," Sansa said, "are you alright."

Catelyn said. "I'm going to go pray at the sept." She ignored every person who greeted her on her way to one of the few places that made her calm.

The sept was small, only big enough for ten people. But the only ones that ever used it were her, Sansa, Septa Mordane, and the other young girls that lived in the castle. Though the girls only came because Sansa did. In each of the seven walls of the sept was one of the seven, surrounding those that would come to worship them.

Catelyn knelt down and let the presence if the gods surround her. She always prayed to each of the gods as was custom, but her thoughts and emotions were too much to keep within herself. She couldn't take any more of Jon Snow. His presence in the castle, his affect on her children, and those eyes of a stranger that she would see.

"Take him away. From this castle, from this country." No, that wasn't enough. As long as he walked this earth he would always be a threat to her children. "Make him die. Let me be free of that child of sin." Her words were barely above a whisper, but the rang in her mind like a giant bell, clanging over and over. She felt no guilt of what she asked, only anger.

"Cat," Ned's voice entered the sept, calm and course as it always ways, "is everything alright?"

She got up from her knees and put on a mummer's face that was calm. "Yes," she lied, "I've just had many things on my mind. When a won is won, you expect things to calm down."

"They're supposed to, but King's don't usually follow me home after them."

She faked a laugh as she followed him out of the sept.

"Don't worry." Ned Told her. "Robert will only be here for six more days before he journeys back to King's Landing." She didn't give a damn about the King. "Come, I want to speak to you about this proposition Robert suggested."

Ned told her of a probable marriage union with the royal family. Usually the King was asked for such an honor, never the other way around. This is exactly what Catelyn needed to bring the greatest glory to her children. And if circumstances were convenient, then her grandchildren would be possible heirs to the Iron Throne.

As the sun melted the morning frost, the rest of the castle began to wake up. Miken's forge sounded loud with the strikes of his hammers against his anvil. The kennels were filled with the barks of the dogs and yelps of a litter of newborn pups.

Catelyn stood with Ned and Robert on the balconies above the training yard as Ser Rodrick prepared Robb and Snow to train with the two Kingsguard. Though they weren't the only ones watching. Ser Jorah stood by with the Red Priest below and a group of the guards from the night patrols decided to watch rather than rest. These were lessons from two of the greatest knights in all of Westeros after all.

Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime were dressed out of their white armor and cloaks and into the best that Winterfell had to offer. Though looking at Ser Jaime, the training armor he wore looked the poorest of quality on a man of his stature. Ser Barristan didn't mind at all.

Robert patted Ned on the back. "Quite the audience, wouldn't you say Ned?"

"More than they get on a normal day." Ned told him.

"I keep telling you to host a tourney here Ned. Just look at how everyone gathers around two knights of King's Landing like pigeons to crumbs of bread."

"Tourneys are just places men can flaunt their pride for some gold and glory. Not to mention the costs."

"Damn to the costs. What you get in return is recognition. The North is seen as a home to frozen wasteland and barbarians." Not to mention that something like that would liven the castle up. Give men a chance to seek glory and they'll take it as long as there is gold.

"We could care less what people see us as." That wasn't completely true. Northmen cared how others saw them, but only among themselves. They cared not for anyone south of the Neck unless you were the King or had a good reason to give them.

"Ha! You sound just like the Kingslayer. If you won't host one then I will. But not in King's Landing. Hate that damned city. Maybe somewhere that doesn't smell of shit like Sunspear or Lannisport. Ah, looks like they're about to begin."

Everyone gazed down to watch the training begin.

Ser Barristan stood in front of the boys while Ser Jaime stood off to the side. "Now then, who is who?" Ser Barristan asked.

Robb said. "I'm Robb Stark, Ser. He's my half-brother Jon Snow."

Snow gave a curt bow.

"Good lads." Ser Barristan said. "Now then, as far as I know, knights are uncommon in the North, are they not?"

"No Ser Barristan," Robb told him. "That's because knights are anointed by the seven and we keep to the old gods."

"I see. Still there are a few among you. Your master at arms and Lord Mormont, surely that doesn't stray either of you from the desire to be one."

"No Ser Barristan," the bastard said, "I want to be a knight more than anything."

Ser Barristan smiled at him. "You're a good lad. Noe why don't we see what the two of you can do first." Ser Barristan took a few steps back to Ser Jaime as Robb and Snow both faced each other for a match.

They both took their stances and raised their practice swords and shields. Robb was the one to make the first move and struck at Snow with his sword. Snow was quick to block with his shield and parried the blow to the side. Robb raised his shield to block whatever Snow would strike at. But instead, Snow used his shield to bash into Robb. Snow then raised his sword to strike at an opening but Robb blocked it in time.

Catelyn watched with pride swelling inside her as everything Snow attacked with proved faulty against Robb.

But that disappeared when Robb stepped to far and was hit square in the chest with Snow's sword.

"Wonderful hit," Ser Barristan commented. "That's enough for now. You both are very adept in the ways of swordplay. Almost as much as I was."

"Thank you, Ser." Robb said. "Jon's always been better with a sword than me. But I'm a better rider."

"If riding is your strength, you should pursue learning mounted combat when your skill is good enough."

"I will, Ser."

Ser Jaime finally broke his silence. "I've seen enough to know what I'm dealing with. I'll take the true born."

Snow just stood in place, silent and sweaty. While Ser Jaime and Robb began their session together, Ser Barristan knelt down to Snow. Had the pairing been reversed, things would appear to be a poetic situation. A gallant knight for Robb and an Oathbreaker for the bastard.

Ser Barristan looked at the bastard strangely for an awkward time before focusing on training him.

"What is it, Ser Barristan?" The bastard asked.

"It's strange, you remind me of someone, but I can remember who. Forgive me, I'm here to teach, not bore you. I noticed you put a great deal of strength into your strikes."

"The stronger fighter always wins."

This was amusing to Ser Barristan. "A stronger fighter doesn't always mean he has more muscle. You landed the first strike because you have quicker speed. The mightiest of blows means nothing if it can't hit its target in time. Have you ever heard of Ser Gregor Clegane?"

"He's the one they call the Hound."

"The Hound is Ser Gregor's younger brother. He's known as the Mountain that Rides, but most just call him the Mountain. He's taller than that stableboy of yours and the strongest man I've met. I've seen him cut a man in two with a single swing of his great sword. But even with all that brute strength, he is slower than most. I've seen him beaten at tourneys by men who were light on their feet and faster with their weapons."

Catelyn overheard the red priest boasting to the men around that he beat the Mountain three times.

"So it's speed that wins, not strength?" The bastard asked.

"A fast parry won't protect you if you don't have the strength to defend."

"So, it's both?"

"For the most part. There's also a great many other things. Skill, experience, endurance, many things. But for, we'll just stick with the basics. Now show me your stance." While the two for them were fine tuning Jon's basic form, the men watching were listening in as much as they could to the greatest swordsman in Westeros.

"Ha! Speed." Robert mocked. "Rhaegar was fast with that sword of his, but it didn't stop my hammer from crushing his chest in."

Things went on for a few minutes before some of the men watching left. They expected to see some secret or advanced technique displayed but all the saw was what they knew. Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime focused completely on fine tuning what Robb and Snow already knew.

"I don't understand," Catelyn admitted, "Why teach what they already know?"

Ned was kind enough to explain. "Sometimes the things that determine who lives and who dies in battle are the simplest of things. A single strike is all it takes and whoever perfected their technique better will be the winner unless fate chooses otherwise."

"But I still don't understand."

"How many times when you learned stitching did you have to practice the same thing over and over?"

"More than I wish. But it was worth it."

"It's the same idea, just a differentskill."

They were interrupted when a loud thud sounded in the yard. Snow had tripped and fallen face first into the ground.

"That was pathetic." Ser Jaime said as Snow slowly got to his feet. "You've only just started and you look like you've been at this for hours." Snow was practically soaked in sweat and was out of breath.

"I'm sorry Ser Jaime. I just feel so exhausted." Snow whined.

"Do you think an enemy will care if you feel well in the middle of a battle?" Ser Jaime asked. "Any man who has to retreat a fight because he's tired is a craven. Any man who fights himself to death is a fool who doesn't know when to stop. But any man can't keep going when crossing swords is a dead man."

Snow tried to shake his fatigue away, but when he faced Ser Barristan to practice another set of parries, he dropped his sword on the first strike and began coughing heavily.

"Honestly, you're worse to train than my nephew." Ser Jaime mocked. Without warning, Snow collapsed to the ground ask was desperately gasping for breath in between his coughs.

"Jon!" Ser Rodrick stepped in and knelt down to the bastard. "Jon, are you alright? Jon say something?"

Catelyn turned to Ned, but he had already rushed down the steps to see to the bastard.

"Out of my way!" Ned shouted as he shoved some of the men observing aside and rushed to the bastard. "Jon? Are you alright? Where's Maester Luwin?"

"I'm here, Lord Stark." Maester Luwin appeared into the training yard and took Ser Rodrick's place beside Snow. "What happened?"

Ned didn't try to hide the tone of worry in his voice. "He just collapsed in the middle of a spar."

"Ser Barristan," Maester Luwin looked to the Kingslayer, "did you notice anything?"

The old knight looked just as concerned as Ned was. "He was unusually out of breath and sweating more than I've seen anyone."

Maester Luwin turned his attention back to Snow. He seemed to notice something as he pulled the boy's collar down to inspect his neck. "It looks like Jon has the pox."

"The pox?" Ned asked. "Will he be alright?"

"He may live, but as young as he is he could very well die."

When Catelyn heard the word die be said, everything around her seemed to collapse. She watched as Ned took Snow into his arms and led Maester Luwin back into the castle. The entire time she felt speechless as if someone asked her an obvious question she couldn't answer. _'The gods are real,'_ she thought. _'They are real and they gave me what I asked for.'_ And yet with her prayer granted, why was it that she began to feel a pain in her heart?


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** **This is the last chapter I'm posting until Night Dragons is done. You will all hate me for it after you read this.**

* * *

What would it take for Catelyn to keep her promise to the Gods?

* * *

Eddard

For three whole days Jon was confined to a bed and suffered harshly from his illness. His current room was too small for Maester Luwin to tend to him and allow Eddard to watch over him at the same time. But surprisingly, Robert suggested to have Jon moved to a larger room. The only reason Eddard hadn't thought of that was out of habit of hearing Catelyn object to him and rant about valuing Jon over his other children. But for once, she didn't confront him about it so Jon was moved to one of the larger bedchambers without a fuss. The one in choice was one of the finer guest rooms that currently wasn't in use, located right next to the King's. He expected some objection from Catelyn since the room was the size of theirs and Robert's, but she kept silent about it. In fact, she had been keeping to herself since Jon fell ill. For whatever reason or purpose was, Eddard knew not of it.

Eddard sat by Jon's bedside as often as he could, listening to his ragged breaths and watching him in a state of painful exhaustion. Every time Jon moaned out in pain Eddard held his breath, afraid to watch if his son was about to spend his last moments in the world in bed and in such a state, all the while Lyanna's last words would ring like a loud bell in his mind. ' _Promise me Ned, promise me_.'

Ser Jorah was kind to visit Jon and say his farewells to him before he took his leave to return to Bear Island. Many of the other guests that were invited for the feast left as well, only a few remained. Most of them were part of the King's company. The only guest still in Winterfell who wasn't with Robert was Thoros of Myr. He was planning to ride with the King to King's Landing when they would depart.

Robb was good enough to come see Jon every now and then, but Maester Luwin made sure that he and they other children knew to keep their distance from Jon so they wouldn't catch the pox. Sansa didn't care to see Jon at all, but Arya felt different. One morning she wandered into his room and gave Jon a freshly bloomed Wolfsbane flower from the glass gardens. Maester Luwin nearly panicked to death given how close she got to Jon, but she was lucky enough that the pox didn't spread to her. Ever since that scare, Arya could only visit Jon if she accompanied her father.

Eddard was unfortunate enough to have to tend to his duties this afternoon. A deserter from Eastwatch was caught at the Last Hearth and some of the Greatjon's men brought him to Winterfell for justice. While everyone in Winterfell wore cloaks, the men of the Last Hearth wore thick long elk hide coats lined in fur. The soldiers' tunics were emblazoned with the sigil of House Umber, a roaring giant wearing broken shackles.

Eddard stood in the courtyard with Robert, Jory and Ser Rodrick as the deserter was brought forth to him.

The deserter was rather aged into his years, probably just under fifty. He had a terrible gash that began above his left brow and stretched to his chin. A part of his lip was torn off and permanently exposed his teeth, at least the ones he had left. He struggled as he was brought to his knees before the king. "Get yer stinkin hands off me you damn filthy savages!"

One of the Umber men punched the deserter hard across the face and shut him up.

Robert chuckled as the deserter groveled in pain. "Ha! Dumb fool. Suppose I have to deal with this. But this is your home Ned and your country. Let the man face your justice."

Eddard looked over to Jory and nodded to him. Shortly after, Jory brought Ice. Eddard pulled the sword out of the dire wolfskin scabbard and rested the tip of the blade in the ground. "Do you have anything you wish to say before you are sentenced?"

The deserter spat at Eddard's boots. "Piss on you and your king."

There was a crunching of the snow as Robert stormed towards the deserter, his steps faltering a bit making Ned frown as Robert with his large hand grabbed the deserter's head and punched him in the jaw. The man spat out a wad of blood from the force of his hit and appeared dazed afterwards. "His king? I am _the_ King! You fucking craven, keep your bloody mouth shut!" He looked to Eddard, the fury of the Baratheon's was burning in his eyes, before he gave Ned an easygoing smile, his eyes clouding for a moment as he relaxed. "Gods, that felt good. Well? What are you waiting for? Kill the traitor already and be done with it."

Some of the guards of Winterfell brought a block forward and the deserter was slammed onto it, his neck naked of protection.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, The Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die." Eddard lifted Ice up into the air with ease and with one swing the deserter's head fell from his body, clean and quick. Blood began to spill to the dirt as Eddard handed Ice back to Jory. "Take it to the Godswood."

"To the heart tree, my lord?" Jory asked.

"Aye." The Umber men took the body and head away while the Winterfell men began to clean to the mess of the execution.

Robert sighed heavily. "Gods Ned...Is your executioner unable to do his duty?"

Eddard shook his head. "Winterfell has never had an executioner except the King's of Winter and Lords after them. My father told me the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

Robert scoffed at him. "Sounds like an excuse to kill a man. But I'll never understand you Starks or your ways. How's your bastard fairing?"

"My maester told me he has more days of being bedridden ahead of him before he'll start to recover, but those days will be the worst of the pox." Jon was barely holding onto his life already. Eddard feared what would come next if this wasn't the worst of it.

Robert looked over to his Kingsguard. "Selmy!"

Ser Barristan approached Eddard and Robert. "Your grace?"

"You were in charge of the boy's care when he fell ill, and you'll continue to be until he recovers. Go stand vigil at his door, that's a command."

For a second Eddard felt flattered, but this was probably meant to insult Ser Barristan. "Your grace-"

"Dammit Ned, while I'm in your castle you can forget the courtesies of court."

"Robert, I appreciate the gesture but having one of your Kingsguard act as a protector to a sickly child is unnecessary."

"Unnecessary yes, but a command still." Robert looked at Ser Barristan with a piercing gaze.

"By your orders, your grace." Barristan left his post to the King to know take it guarding Jon. Ned couldn't deny the irony of the whole situation, leaving one king to guard another, but it was embarrassing nonetheless for the old knight. Now only Ser Jaime remained as a guard to the King.

Robert wrapped an arm over Eddard's shoulders and began to walk with him. "Finally, I wasn't sure how else to get rid of him."

Eddard suddenly became confused. "What?"

"I'm planning on a hunt tonight and I don't need that old sod following after me everywhere. I want you to come with me."

A hunt was the last thing that Eddard need right now. "Robert, I'm not sure that I should."

"Come on, you've been moping since your bastard caught the pox. A hunt will help you get your wits again and realize that no son of Ned Stark is weak enough to die of something so lowly as sickness."

Eddard appreciated Robert's confidence in Jon's recovery given that it was more than he himself had. But regardless of it, he wouldn't be able to feel easy until Jon's fate was certain. He wouldn't allow himself to casually go about his days or frolic about while his son was lying in bed near death. "I appreciate the offer Robert, but-"

"It's not an offer, it's a command. One that I don't like to give but need to. If you let the boy's health drag you down, you'll become a miserable sod for the rest of my stay. A hunt will get your blood flowing like a battle would and take your mind off everything else. Trust me."

Maybe Robert was right. Eddard has been nothing but worried, perhaps something to bring his mood up would also brings his hopes up too. And the kitchens were low on meats after the feast. "I suppose a hunt would be alright."

"It's settled. Before the sun sets this evening, we'll ride out of the castle with five men each." Robert patted Ned on the back and left with Ser Jaime. Eddard noticed that Robert pulled a vial from the inside of his doublet and downed its contents as quick as he could. Probably a small stash of wine he kept with him at all times.

Eddard would probably bring Ser Rodrick and Jory, but aside from that he wasn't sure who else. Maybe three of his own guard. But If Benjen arrived today then maybe he would want to come with them.

With no business left, Eddard went to the Godswood to clean Ice of the blood that stained the blade. He met Jory at the entrance to the Godswood, holding Ice ready for Ned to claim the sword and venture into the woods to settle his mind of the execution. A tradition that his father and his grandfather and as many of the Starks that are long dead have done.

Eddard first cleaned the blood that covered the smoke colored steel of Ice. The ripples of the all the folds began to show once the red had gone. Before he oiled it, Eddard gazed into the blade of the sword. For four hundred years the sword had been wielded by Starks of old.

"How many times does a blade have to be stained in blood for it to turn red like sword of the Drumms?" he whispered to himself.

How many lives have the edges of Ice taken? How many heads have rolled to the ground after the sword gave justice? His thoughts began to wander to the original legendary sword that was wielded by the Starks thousands of years ago. It too was also named Ice, but it was different than the greatsword Eddard held in his hands. A King of Winter journeyed to the Wall with it in hand, but both sword and king never returned south. They vanished beyond the Wall like many before and after them. No history tome mentioned any clue of what might have happened, but it wouldn't change that the King and the sword were gone forever.

As Eddard ran the clothe down the blade, cleaning any impurities that tried to nest on it, he heard the crunching of leaves and snow. He looked over and saw Catelyn coming to him. She always looked uncomfortable in Winterfell's Godswood, but this time she looked more so.

Eddard ran the clothe once more done the entire blade before setting it aside and sheathing the greatsword.

"Ned," she spoke, "I have a request I wish to ask of you."

"It must be quite the request since you came here." It was rare for his wife to venture into the Godswood, she followed the Faith of the Seven, keeping to the sept he had built for her as the place where she prays.

Catelyn stood by the heart tree and looked frightened, but it was more at him than at the tree as Eddard would have expected. "I wanted to take some time and visit my family in Riverrun."

This was unusual to ask. If she wanted to go to Riverrun she need only say and depart but... "I would never forbid you from your homeland Cat, but at a time like this? I expect there is more than you are letting on? Do you wish to bring the children with you?" He did not know if he could bare the thought of the children leaving while Jon was in such a terrible state. What if they returned only to find him in a stony grave?

"No. They are to remain here."

"Remain here?" questioned Ned, while he was happier about the news this was unlike his wife. She loved their children fiercely and would do anything to make sure they were protected. "But why? They've never seen the home of your birth and they have yet to meet their uncle Edmure."

Cat sat down across from him at the edge of the pond. "Ned, I need to get out of this castle, out of this country. Since… for some time it all feels like when I'm in the presence of this weirwood. The feeling that I don't belong here and never will."

"Cat, you're making it sound like you want me to set you aside." Ned thought of her words and noticed she hesitated about one thing. "How long have you been feeling like this? You were going to say 'since' something, but you changed."

She opened her mouth to speak but the words stuttered in her mouth. "I… I did something terrible, Ned. I didn't regret it at first, but now my actions weigh down on every part of me." Her voice carried sorrow. Whatever it was, she was being truthful about it. "Ned… it's my fault Jon came down with the pox."

This was the first time Eddard ever heard her call Jon by his first name. "What do you mean?" Ned kept a firm gaze on her, but she kept her eyes to the ground. "Catelyn, explain what you mean."

She finally looked up to him, fear present in her eyes to admit what she had to say. "I prayed to the seven to make him leave, to take him away. But I was so angry, it didn't feel enough. So I prayed to make him die."

Eddard's hand unconsciously tightened over the handle of Ice. There was a pregnant silence and all Ned could feel was confusion and a rage building up. "You did what?"

"I was just so angry. I couldn't stand him anymore."

Ned loosened his grip on Ice and gathered himself. "You prayed for the death of a child?" His voice began to rise, present with anger. "I don't believe in the seven, therefore I don't believe that they nor you inflicted Jon with sickness. But to wish the death of a child? Why? I am the one to blame for his being here, so why would you ask your gods to kill a child who is nothing but kind to ours, who has to suffer being shamed for bearing the name Snow?"

"Because I'm jealous of his mother!" She cried out. "Every time I look at him I see eyes that are not mine or yours. Those eyes of a women you loved more than the woman you married and carried your babe inside her. He looks more like a Stark than the children who have the name. Why could another woman give what I can't?"

Eddard nearly shouted at her. "He's my blood, damn you!" He wanted to slam his fist at her, to take Ice and cleave right through a tree, something that he could attack and unleash his rage at. He sacrificed his honor to protect Jon, yet he was still suffering because of him.

Eddard took hold of Ice's scabbard and stood up. "You may go to Riverrun and stay as long as you want. If the children ask why you left, you have to tell them why. But you will remain until Jon's fate is decided. If he lives, then know that your gods ignored you. If he dies, then be happy that you follow those that would bring death to an innocent child." Eddard left Catelyn alone and miserable in the Godswood, hoping that she would heed his warning.

In his room, Eddard slouched back in his chair. Every time Catelyn came to him with conflict about Jon, it was like he had to choose between her or Lyanna. There was rarely a time when he could honor both, but this was not one of those times. This time things were growing out of hand. He couldn't take it anymore and it was becoming more of a problem.

There was a knock on the door as Eddard was gathering his thoughts.

"Milord Stark," one of his men called, "an owl flew into the ravenry. It had a scroll attached to its leg addressed for you."

An owl? Who would possibly use an owl to send messages? "You may enter."

The door open and Eddard was given a scroll stamped with a sigil he wasn't expecting, a lizard lion circling itself. "House Reed." He broke the seal and unraveled the parchment. It was from Howland.

 _-Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North_

 _Word has reached me of your sons illness and the chance it could be fatal. I will be arriving within a fortnight to aid provide aid that no maester can._

 _-Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch_

 _The owl knows its way home. Merely feed it and it shall return._

This seemed impossible. How could word have reached the Neck already, and why was there word at all of a bastard falling ill? And how did the Greywater have messenger birds? The castle moved on the water and no raven sent ever returned. Ned had so many questions, but first he had to worry about Jon recovering from the pox. Maester Luwin was heavy in healing links of his chain, but Jon wasn't improving enough.

"Is there something wrong, milord?" The guard asked.

"Would you see to it that the owl is fed?"

"Of course milord." The guard was gone as quick as he came.

The crannogmen had ways unknown to the even the wisest of healing maesters to cure that which they can't. The pox was common in the swamps, but they hardly had to suffer from it. Howland coming to Winterfell was an unbelievable blessing, but to Eddard it almost felt like fate was drawing his old friend to him.

* * *

Benjen

Riding back through the gates of home felt greater than Benjen imagined it would be. The moment his horse set its first hoof within the walls of the castle he felt a wave of reminiscence overtake him. Too long has he been away from the castle, but it was all the same as he remembered. The sounds, the smell, the feeling of home, everything felt right and most of all it felt less cold than Castle Black. The last time he was at Winterfell was three years ago, before then was when he left to take the black.

As Benjen steered his horse to the stables he noticed some gleeful looks from those who he grew up with. Some of the faces he saw were new, and some were missing that he knew. Luckily one face still remained.

"Hodor!" Hodor walked up to Benjen's horse and took the reigns from him, smiling as always.

"Hello old friend." Benjen greeted as he dismounted the horse. "It's good to see you again."

"Hodor."

Benjen gave Hodor a brief hug. "Everything well with you I hope?"

"Hodor." Hodor responded assuredly.

"And where's that no good brother of mine? I would've thought to expect a welcoming from him."

"Uncle Benjen!" Before Hodor could give an answer of any kind, Benjen was tackled in the legs by someone excited to see him. He nearly fell on his horse but managed to get his footing.

"Robb, seven hells you're enormous since I last saw you." Benjen wrapped his arms around his nephew and let himself enjoy the moment. There was hardly any love at the Wall.

"It's good to see you uncle Benjen! Did you bring anything from the Wall with you?"

Damn. He was planning to but he completely forgot. "Well, I did bring a piece of it for you, but it melted on the way here."

Robb looked disappointed. "Then you'll have to get here faster next time." At least he bought it.

"I think I rode faster than a dragon could fly. Maybe you should move the castle closer to the Wall when you take over as the Lord of Winterfell." He patted Robb on his back and let Hodor take his horse to the stables.

Robb shook his head. "It's so cold here already, so it must be freezing at the Wall. I think I'll move the castle further south."

"Benjen couldn't contain his laughter at the innocence of his nephew. "Well I don't blame. The men of the Watch never get warm, just less cold." Benjen looked around and saw many of the Northerners of Winterfell out and about their business. There were two little girls walking out of the castle, neither of them had the red hair that Sansa did which meant she was probably still inside the castle. Maybe at her studies, but Jon on the other hand might be in the training yard. "Tell me Robb, where's Jon? I would've expected him to greet his favorite uncle by 's usually with you isn't he?"

Robb's gleeful attitude died down. "He can't come outside. He got sick and is stuck in bed."

"Got sick? That's no fun at all. I've seen too many sick men at the Wall, I hoped there would be none where it's warm. Do you know where your father is?"

Robb nodded and led Benjen out of the courtyard. Before they entered the castle, there was a boy Benjen didn't recognize who was waiting for Robb and began following when they entered the castle.

"And who might you be?" Benjen asked without looking at the boy.

"I'm Theon Greyjoy." He replied back.

The hostage of war. "So you're my brothers ward are ya? My name is Benjen Stark, Lord Eddard's younger brother and master at arms of Castle Black."

"You're part of the Night's Watch?" Though the boy's question was out of curiosity, the tone of him was more dull than Alliser Thorne.

"I am. Been sworn since I was fourteen and got promoted six months ago."

The little Greyjoy had the nerve to chuckle. "The watch must be desperate if they have someone so young teaching men twice your age."

No, but Benjen killed enough wildlings to get the job. "One of the benefits of learning the sword since I could hold one."

"You won't catch me joining the watch. I'd like to take women to bed instead of sheep."

Benjen turned his head at Theon, amazed of the mouth the boy had. But he was Ironborn after all. "Sheep? Only animals anywhere near the wall are squirrels, rabbits, and not nearly enough elk."

"Whatever animals there are, doesn't change that I won't swear off women." How old was this boy? Speaking like he already understands the comfort in a woman's embrace when his balls hadn't even dropped yet. But in the end he was just another one of the great many who saw the Watch as a place to freeze till the end of your days. Unless they took they black themselves, they wouldn't realize how real the threats beyond the Wall were and that the realms get to rest peacefully because of the sworn brothers give their lives for it.

Robb finally stopped at Ned's chambers and knocked on the door. "Father, uncle Benjen is here!"

It didn't take long for Ned to open the door and see his brother. "Ben, by the gods it's good to see you."

"Hello Ned." Benjen shared a brotherly hug with him. "You look well." Ned commented.

"I wish I could say the same." War had changed his older brother, his face was harsher, but not completely different. No, what worried Benjen was the torment in his brothers eyes."What's this I hear about Jon being sick?"

Ned looked worse than Robb did. "It's… not good. Robb, why don't you go find Sansa and tell her Benjen arrived."

"Yes father." Robb left quickly with Theon following close behind.

Once they were out of earshot, Ned explained. "Three days ago, Jon collapsed with the pox. He hasn't left his bed ever since. Maester Luwin said the worst has yet to come, but I fear it might overtake him."

"It won't." Benjen assured. "Jon's a strong lad. If he can take the shit everyone gives him for being a bastard, he can take the pox."

"I appreciate your confidence, I wish I had it. Come, have seat." Ned gestured to one of his chairs and Benjen was happy to sit down.

"I passed some of Umber's men on the way here. Did they catch the deserter?"

"Aye, took his head this morning."

Benjen had no sympathy for those that abandoned the watch. They said the words, they had to honor them. Most of the men who came freely didn't understand what it was they were giving up when they took their vows, and it was too late when they realized it. "I didn't know the man, but I heard he was ambushed by a clan trying to scale the Wall. We lost two good brothers while the coward survived."

"The Wildlings are getting bolder. I've had more reports of them south of the Wall this year than I had in the last five."

"It's not boldness, it's something else. There's strange things happening, Ned. One of the villages we have an arrangement with was deserted."

Ned didn't look to surprised at that. "Maybe they found better land to live on."

"No, you don't understand. They didn't pack up and leave, they disappeared. Food and supplies were abandoned. There were signs of a fight but no bodies. It's like they decided to leave with nothing. Those were good people with nowhere to go."

"Then, what happened?"

"Our best trackers had no idea. We spent days looking for any sign of them, but we didn't find anything." There was more to it, but Lord Commander Mormont forbade any sharing of the knowledge until he could get a better explanation. There were bodies, but not human. The animals the wildlings had were slaughtered and cut up, their remains arranged in a pattern that no one had any knowledge of its meaning.

"Winter is coming, Benjen. We'd best be ready for it."

"Winter is coming." Their words had many meanings behind them but only Starks knew the true meaning was to be ready for when the brightest moments become the darkest.

Before they could continue, the door burst open and Benjen watched a toddler waddle in.

"Arya," Ned stood up from his seat and walked over to the little girl, "you need to knock before you open."

"Knock," the girl repeated. "Who that?" She pointed at Benjen.

"That's your uncle Benjen, go say hello."

Benjen got up from his seat and kneeled down to get as close to the girl's eye level as he could. "Hello little one. What's your name?"

"Arry!" She yelled out.

Benjen smiled at her as she walked up to him. "Hello Arya. My name is Benjen."

"Benjy." She said.

Robb walked through the door followed by Sansa. Theon waited outside the door.

"Uncle Benjen!" Sansa ran up to Benjen and smothered him with a hug. "It's so good to see you!"

"Sansa, my goodness look at you! Still as beautiful as your mother." Ned's face twitched when Benjen mentioned Catelyn. They must've had another fight. "And your hair, it looks wonderful." Seeing them together brought Benjen's spirits up more than they had been in years. He missed his family and cherished every moment he was given with them. The children were starting to crowd him more than a batch of new recruits ready to train."Well if you're all here, then that just leaves the newest Stark whom I have yet to meet. Then after that, how about we go see Jon?"

None of the children seemed to have any objections, but the Greyjoy boy was still acting like a little twat. The only thing he knew of Bran was a single letter.

"Bran is asleep right now," Ned informed, "so it might be best to go see Jon first."

While the children waited in the hall with one of the Kingsguard, Benjen sat by Jon's beside. His breathing was deep and his body was drenched in sweat. He looked asleep but he was barely awake. His eyes cracked open and widened when he saw who was next to him.

"Uncle Benjen" Jon's voice was above a whisper and took his entire breath to say just a few words.

"Hello Jon."

"Did you… bring something… from the Wall?"

Damn these boys had good memory. "I'm sorry, but I forgot to." He didn't feel like now was the time to lie to Jon for his mistake. "But there's a wildling who's an ally of the Watch, he makes carvings out of mammoth tusks. I'll bring one back just for you."

Jon smiled, or tried to but ended up coughing heavily and cried out in pain.

Maester Luwin entered the room with a tray of medicine, some rags and a bowl of snow. "Lord Benjen, so good to see you returned."

"And to you Maester."

While Maester Luwin tended to Jon, the other children came inside but kept their distance. Benjen realized that Jon might not be awake for much longer so now was as good a time as any to tell some of his stories to the children, at least the ones that wouldn't give them nightmares. Maester Luwin wrapped some snow in a cloth and laid it upon Jon's forehead. "Does that feel better Jon?" Maester Luwin asked.

Jon nodded his head looked absolutely terrible the way he was.

Benjen felt like horse shit for forgetting to bring something, but maybe he could fix this. He turned to the other children. "I feel I owe you lot for my poor memory, so how about I tell you all a story of something I saw beyond the Wall." All the children had looks of curiosity in their eyes.

"What did you see?"

Benjen smirked at them. "A giant." he told them.

Immediately the children gathered around and sat down on the warm stone floor while Benjen pull up a stool. "Now, let me tell you of the giant I saw in the lands beyond the Wall." Theon Greyjoy stood at the door and acted like he wasn't interested but anyone could tell that he really was. Ned had a similar expression, but his was true. "About a year ago, I was on range in the Frostfangs with one of the greatest Rangers I've ever met. His name is Qhorin Halfhand."

"Why do they call him Halfhand?" Robb asked.

It would be better if he didn't go into the full story of that for the children's sake. "He fought against a wilding and got three fingers cut off by an axe on his right hand. That was years ago, now he is one of the best left handed swordsmen I've ever seen. So, I was in the Frostfangs with him and one of the other skilled rangers named Cooper, he was a man from Dorne. We were looking for a party of Wildlings from the clan the Sharshans, some of the nastiest and meanest wildlings ever known. We had gone further north than I had ever been. The mountains there are jagged and sharp and perilous to climb if you didn't know how. One night, we were camped inside a narrow cave during a blizzard. We couldn't risk starting a fire without giving away our position so we had to huddle up. But the Sharshans we were looking for were not as smart. We saw a light flickering on a mountain across from the one we took shelter in. If we didn't move then, we would have lost the trail in the blizzard. We journeyed through the coldest snow I've ever felt and finally took the Sharshans by surprise! But what we didn't realize were how many there were. Three skilled swordsmen against eleven wildlings, who do you think would win?"

Sansa was the first to answer. "You did of course!"

"We fought as hard as we could, but Sharshans are ferocious fighters. We cut down six of them before we had to flee for our lives. Qhorin and I rushed down the mountain as fast as we could. But we weren't paying attention to what we were stepping on. What we thought was solid ground actually ice. It cracked and caved in and we all fell into an underground cavern. Qhorin and I were lucky to be unharmed, but the Thenns all died in the fall. What we didn't realize was that there was something else in the cavern with us." Robb leaned in closer to listen to every detail. Benjen looked over to Jon and saw he was still awake and paying as much attention as everyone else. "Inside that cavern was creature twenty feet tall, a giant if I ever saw one. His hair was like a thick curtain and his fingers were the size of full grown hounds. When he saw us, he let out a mighty bellow and scared us right out of that cavern. If we weren't fast enough, that giant would have pounded us straight into the ground."

"Wow." Robb said in amazement. "You really did see a giant."

Benjen smiled at him.

The sun was getting low and Ned was preparing to join the King for a secret hunt. Benjen was surprised to have been invited to go along with them, and how could he refuse? He had been riding for days and was hungry for something other than squirrels and berries.

In the Great Hall, Benjen was pleased when he was served a bowl of hot potato soup. He wanted to eat all at once, but he learned that a starving man could kill himself by eating the very thing he needed to live too fast.

Ned was kind enough to join him for a quick meal before they were to leave. "So, what was it you really found in that cavern?"

It was obvious to Ned that most of what Benjen said was exaggerated. "The Sharshans we were tracking killed nine of my brothers and then ate them, fucking cannibals. I hate that clan more than the Thenns. But their strength rivals them and they are worse to fight. They were too much for us when we found them. I nearly lost my arm and Qhorin his other hand. But Cooper lost his leg and was eaten alive. We had no choice but to run. When we fell, the Sharshans all had broken bones and could only lay in the cold as Qhorin and I cut their throats and left them to bleed to death. The thing that gets to me most was the silence. The Sharshans didn't make a sound as we killed then, didn't even blink. They don't fear death which makes them some of the worst enemies we have." Benjen took a large swing of his ale. He needed something to help carry the memory away. "There was no giant, only Wildling skeletons, dozens of them. A clan of of them young and old got themselves trapped and died. It was horrifying to see. The skeletons had frozen flesh over them and retained the shapes of the wildlings. There were babes at the breasts of their mothers and children lying alone." Benjen stopped eating his soup and looked at his brother with all seriousness. "The Watch is failing Ned. In ten years we'll be less than a thousand men. We need help."

Ned nodded. "I'll send what I can to take the black and serve. I'll try and ask Robert for the same."

Benjen couldn't help but laugh a little.

"What's so funny?"

"Just the delusion of the Night's Watch that we of the North were fed as children. There is no adventure north of the Wall, only death and ice."

* * *

Catelyn

Ever since her confrontation with Ned, Catelyn felt lost and confused. But above that she was frustrated at herself. She kept asking herself everything that he did in the godswood. How could she have prayed for the death of a child? She wanted to speak to Ned, but he refused to see her once Benjen had arrived. After Benjen's visit to meet Bran, Ned disappeared to gods know where with the King. She hoped he would return soon, but if he did would he listen to her? Did she deserve to be listened to? All these things kept bringing her to the same answer when she asked them to herself. _'No, what kind of husband would listen to the worst mother that ever lived.'_

Catelyn couldn't let herself continue moping in regret while Ned was away and Jon had to suffer what she prayed for. She decided to watch over him in his room until Ned returned. Jon was asleep but the sounds he was making made it seem he was awake. He groaned and coughed as his head rustled from side to side.

Catelyn had started weaving a seven-pointed star in hopes that it would bring protection to him. As she worked and listened to Jon's suffering, her thoughts began to dwell to who the boy's mother was. Eddard Stark was the most honorable man she ever knew, yet what kind of woman could make him forget his honor.

There was a knock on the door and it cracked open.

"Yes?" Catelyn called out.

"My Lady," Ser Barristan said, "your daughters are here to see you."

"You may let them enter."

Ser Barristan opened the door all the way and Sansa walked in with Arya. Something that surprised Catelyn was that Arya and holding onto Sansa's hand. They never held hands before.

"Mother," Sansa said, "could you help me with my stitching?"

Catelyn just finished the Stranger of the star and set it aside. "Yes, my sweetling. But Someone has to keep an eye on Arya."

"My lady," Ser Barristan entered the room, "I would be happy to watch over your daughter if you'd like."

"That is very kind of you, Ser Barristan, I wouldn't mind at all." Arya looked marveled at the knight's gleaming armor and white cloak. He held his helmet at his side and handle her with care. Had he not become a Kingsguard and taken a wife years ago, Barristan Selmy might have made a wonderful father and grandfather.

Catelyn sat with Sansa and was given what she was working on. Sansa was trying to make a white direwolf on a grey field. The colors of their house reversed as a bastard of a lord would do for a sigil. Such skill at so young give Catelyn a flicker of pride in her. She spent about an hour assisting her daughter to make the wolf before Sansa fell asleep in her chair, Arya followed not long after.

Ser Barristan laid Arya down against the wall near Sansa's chair and then stood over Jon and looked at him.

"It's strange," he said, "he looks just like him."

"Like who?" Catelyn inquired.

"Aegon the Conqueror. About fifteen years ago I visited Dragonstone with Prince Rhaegar. Inside the castle there were hundreds of tapestries, some dating back to before the Doom. One of these tapestries showed a young Aegon and his sisters, long before they set off to Conquer the Seven Kingdoms. I imagine if when Jon Snow is the age of a young man and had silver hair, they would be nearly identical."

Catelyn had never seen any form of image of King Aegon Targaryen the First. She looked at Jon's face and tried to imagine what Ser Barristan described. Due to the Stark blood in Jon, Catelyn was unable to picture a clean shaven face of Aegon and thought of him wearing a platinum silver beard from one ear to the next. Her imagined version of the Conqueror of Westeros had every aspect a king would. But even then, how would they look the same? Perhaps his...mother... had some Valyrian blood in her. Enough for them to share likeness, but nothing more. It didn't matter if they looked the same, Snow would never possess the aspect of a king because of his status as a bastard.

Catelyn resumed her work on her seven point star. Her mind was distracted for a time, but she had been reminded of what she done when Jon whimpered out in pain. Every time he made a noise like that, the words of her prayer came back to haunt her.

 _Make him die, take the boy away, make him die…_

With a shuddering breath Catelyn silently worked on her star, but the silence would not let those accursed words from leaving her head.

"Is everything alright, Lady Stark?" Ser Barristan asked.

Catelyn wanted to keep silent, to tell the old knight no and have him leave her be. But the more she contained things within herself, the more it drove her mad. "Ser Barristan, you've done many things in your life, served many men and had taken orders for king's and royals. But is there anything you regret? Any action you wished to undo?"

Ser Barristan looked puzzled for a moment before his eyes trailed to Snow then returned to her. "I admit to having my share of them and I don't think there's a man who ever lived without one. But my greatest regret is what gave me my white cloak."

Catelyn couldn't believe what she heard, but she must have misunderstood him. "Forgive me, but I think I misunderstood you. Did you mean that you regret joining the Kingsguard?"

Ser Barristan hesitated to answer. "Sometimes I do, but what I was referring to was the deed I did to earn being accepted into the order."

Catelyn knew little of Ser Barristan. She heard a few words of him here and there and knew that it was he who slew Maelys Blackfyre in the War of the Ninepenny Kings and ended the Blackfyres once and for all. She had to guess that was it. "Was it for your valor at the Stepstones?"

Ser Barristan chuckled. "Yes, yes it was my valor." His words were lightly exaggerated and he looked unsettled after he said that. "I slew Maelys in single combat and ended the war. But few ever ask why it was me he slew him. The only ones who do died at Summerhall."

Catelyn couldn't help but ask. "What happened?"

"When the King sent the call to arms, my younger brother, Tobias, was refused to join me. I was fool enough to defy my father and brought him with me. He was eighteen, and a better swordsman than I was at that age. But was never given an opportunity to squire and be knighted. I thought if he earned glory on the field it would be enough." Ser Barristan closed his eyes and almost broke into tears. "We got separated on the field of battle, and I soon was given two choices. To fight with my brother, or challenge Maelys. I chose the latter, I knew my brother could handle himself, or I thought I did. He.." his voice grew somber, "he was surrounded and stabbed eight times before he was left to die. After I slew Maelys, I found his body, mutilated and hardly recognizable. If I had chosen to go with him, he might have lived or we would have died together, anything but having to see what remained of him." He gathered himself out of his sadness and spoke more calmly. "I chose the realm over my own family, the qualities of a Kingsguard."

Catelyn was stunned to hear that. Family was the first of the Tully words. Family, Duty, Honor. "I don't understand," Catelyn admitted, "why would you become a Kingsguard after that kind of ordeal?"

"I took the White cloak to remind me of my choice. I chose to put the realm before my brother, and I will do so until the end of my days. Such is the duty of the Kingsguard and the Night's Watch. Have you ever wondered why both take vows to take no wife and father no children?"

Catelyn never thought about it before. She shook her head.

"Love is the death of duty. What is duty compared to the love of a woman? And what is honor compared to a babe in your arms?"

Catelyn immediately thought of Ned when Ser Barristan said those words. Over there years of marriage, Catelyn became convinced that Ned wouldn't have betrayed her for some tavern slut like many would say. Whoever it was, he loved her fiercely, her and his bastard. For the first and maybe the only time, she felt no envy towards this woman. But her sadness grew greater. She was Ned's duty, and the bastard came from his love. Her emotion betrayed her and she felt a tear slip from her eyes.

"Mother?" Sansa said, half awake half asleep. She and Arya started to wake up. "Why are you crying?"

Ser Barristan stood up. "Forgive me if I said something to upset you, Lady Stark."

Catelyn wiped her face clean. "There's nothing to forgive. I of all people am the one in need of Forgiveness. I just wish I deserved it."

Ser Barristan bowed his head and took his watch over the children once again. Catelyn took back to working on the seven pointed star. The constant sounds of Jon's raspy breaths ate at her heart. She didn't know whether or not they would be his last or if he had enough strength to last through the pox like Maester Luwin said he might. All of it was just a reminder that she was the one who prayed for this, she was the one who set him on this path that could lead to his death. She stopped weaving her seven pointed star and looked down at the whimpering boy, not seeing him as a stain on her husband's honor for the first time, but just a sickly boy.

"Mother," the little Sansa said as she clutched tightly onto her mother's dress, "Is Jon going to die?" Even though Arya was just at the age of two, she understood what her sister asked and the two of them looked at their mother with worry and fear.

"I don't know, my sweetlings." She couldn't find it within herself to tell them that she hoped not. It was in that moment she turned to the gods with all of her heart, begging them for mercy. _'Let the boy live, let him live, and I'll love him. I'll be a mother to him. I'll beg my husband to give him a true name, to call him Stark and be done with it. To make him one of us, his family.'_ Catelyn half expected a sudden change in Jon's behavior, but there was none, just the same suffering boy that she would stay beside until he lived or until he died.

It was only a moment later that she caught a scent of smoke, but it couldn't be from inside the room. All of the sudden, there were cries and shouts coming from the window.

"What could that be?" Ser Barristan walked over to the window and looked out. "Seven help us, there's a fire in one of the towers!"

A fire? How on earth did that happen?

"My lady," Ser barristan said, "I must ask you remain here. I'll go assist how I can."

Catelyn nodded to Ser Barristan and he bolted out of the room. She returned to gazing out the window and watched as many of the residents of the castle gathered to fight against the flames.

"What is it mother?" Sansa asked as she and Arya stayed close to her.

"There's a fire." Catelyn looked away at the destruction and to her two daughters. "I want you two to stay here with me."

Sansa nodded quietly, but then she became wide eyed and looked afraid, but not at her, she was looking behind her mother. All of them felt shivers when a voice behind them spoke out. "You're not s'pposed to be ere." Catelyn turned around and saw a ragged man in black, carrying a dagger in one hand. "No one but the King is s'pposed to be ere."

This man was a catspaw assassin, trying to kill the king. He must have thought this was Robert's room with Ser Barristan guarding it. "Either way, can't let no one know I was ere." He turned his eyes to the girls, no emotion or resentment showing in them as he stepped forward.

"No!" Catelyn stepped in front of her daughters and rushed towards the man, trying to grab hold of his dagger. He tried to swing the blade at her instead, but she managed to grab onto the hand holding the hilt and the blade. Sansa and Arya began to scream and cry when they saw the blade cutting into their mother's fingers and blood starting drip onto her sleeves. The man jerked her aside and bashed her against a wardrobe and then threw her to the ground in front of Jon's bed.

The pain in her fingers stung greatly as the man stood over her and held the dagger at her. Before he could end her life, he failed to see Jon jumping from his bed and tackling him and saving Catelyn.

He yelled out as they both fell to the ground, but Jon barely moved after that. His sickness was making him weak and tired.

Catelyn crawled over to the man's dagger and tried to wrestle it out of his hand. But in her attempt to gain the upper hand, the man cut the blade across her left arm and kicked in the stomach. The blow was so hard that Catelyn became impaired and couldn't move.

As the man got to his feet, Jon desperately grabbed onto one of his ankles, but his grip had no strength at all.

"Stupid bastard." The man grabbed Jon by his shirt and dragged him up against the wall. "Here's some mercy for ya." The man ran his blade into Jon's chest, and a painful scream came out of Jon's mouth.

"No!" Catelyn shrieked out as she helplessly watched the murderer twisted his blade and sink it deeper into Jon's chest. He finally pulled the blade out, but only to stab Jon again, this time in his heart. Blood started to spill out of Jon's mouth as the murderer began to have a small laugh to himself.

But his fit of amusement ended when a table knife was stuck into his arm, cutting into his artery. He grasped at the wound as the table knife was pulled out and failed to contain the river of blood rushing out of his arm. He turned his head and saw Theon Greyjoy standing with the knife and tried to attack him, but his knees buckled on the first step he took to Theon. He pulled the dagger out of Jon as he fell hard to the ground and lied motionless, the dagger rolled out of his hand to Theon's feet.

Catelyn crawled as fast as she could to Jon's body as he began to breathe very fast and slumped to the ground. "Snow!" She got to her knees and pulled Jon up from the ground. Resting him on her lap. Her grabbed hold of her dress and squeezed it as hard as his fingers could, the skin of her legs pinched from his grip. He cried and whimpered like a newborn babe. He shivered and squirmed as he began bleeding onto her dress. "Snow, it's going to be alright now," Jon never looked up at her, he only kept his eyes to the ground as he always would when she spoke to him. He began to mutter something, but his voice was hard to make out through his whimpers and the blood in his throat. "Jon?"

He finally formed words, but they were that of a scared child, crying desperately. The way he spoke was as if he was begging her with everything he could. "I… I want… my… mo...ther…" His grip on her dress released and his rapid breaths slowed down until he didn't breathe at all. But his eyes, his eyes remained full of tears and the fear of her. He was dead.

Catelyn felt herself begin to tremble as she realized that Jon died feeling alone, because she made him feel alone and unloved every moment she could. All because she couldn't stand the sight of a motherless child. She prayed for the Gods to take the boy away from her, and they granted her prayers. She couldn't stop telling herself that she did this. Jon died because of her and the gods cared nothing for the revoke she begged for.

Catelyn looked at her hands and saw them stained red, unable to tell her blood from Jon's. Then she heard Sansa starting to scream and cry. But when she looked over to her daughter, Catelyn saw that Sansa and Arya were crying quietly in the corner. It was then she realized that the screams were her own.


	6. Chapter 6

**Before We begin this chapter, allow me to explain why I give previews an not chapters. 1, the main reason is because I am still working on piecing the story together, I have a beginning, maybe half of a middle, and no end. The time I don't spend writing i try to spend working on that. 2, I wanted to finish Night Dragons first because I don't like writing two fics at once. 3. This part of the story is kind've on a parrallel with Night dragons right now, check it if you want, so doing both at the same time is weird because you finish one you read the other and think this is what i just read! 4, I do previews so you know that I haven't forgoteen about the story. How many fics are out there that don't update for months at a time and you're stuck wondering why that is? aNd sadly some of them never update. Previews let you guys know that I'm still here and so is the story. After this, you will get two more chapters and then for the love of CHin Chin I have got to finish ND.**

* * *

Eddard

The doe was in their sights. Benjen nocked an arrow on the bowstring and pulled back slowly. The wood of the bow creaked as it bent. He breathed out and aimed the head of the arrow in the path he wanted it to take. The air was still in the cold of the night and the he took in the moment before he released the arrow. In just an instance, the creature living and breathing in front of him would soon cease to live at all. He released the arrow and flew perfectly in the air. The head entered the neck of the doe as the creature fell down dead.

"Well done little brother." Eddard patted Benjen over the shoulder as the two of them got out of the cover of the bushes they hid behind. The Wolfswood was quiet this night, too quiet. There were no sounds of pine needle or leaves rustling in the breeze, no owls hooting in the shadows.

"If only there was such game at the Wall." Benjen said as he inspected his kill.

Ser Rodrick, Jory, and one of the guards named Hamilton appeared from the cover of a fallen tree riddled with moss and rot. "That makes two for us, milord Stark." Hamilton said as he picked a patch of moss out of his long brown beard. "I think we already have a better catch than the King if you don't mind me saying."

Jory had a chuckle. "No argument there. No one knows this part of the Wolfswood like we do."

"Aye," Eddard said, "we should find the King's party and call it a night. Jory, you take the lead." While Jory was getting his bearings, Eddard and Benjen retrieved their kill. Benjen pulled the arrow out of the doe's neck then stabbed an artery with a dagger. The blood rapidly flowed out of the doe's neck and stained the ground. When the last bit was gone, Eddard lifted the doe up with all his strength and carried it over his shoulder. He and Benjen joined the others and began their walk through the forest. Ser Rodrik made the first kill of the night in their group, but his doe was smaller than Benjen's.

While looking for Robert and his party, the silence of the night was broken by howling.

"Wolves," Ser Rodrik placed a hand over the pommel of his sword, "sounds like a pack is close by."

There were many voices that sang the song of the moon. By Eddard's count, maybe five or six. "Let's keep moving. If they get closer we'll abandon the haul."

They all pressed forward quicker than before. Even if it were only five wolves against five armed men, two of the men would not see the morning.

The howling continued on. For an instance, Eddard thought he felt a sad weight in the voices of the wolves. But all that ended when a horn blasted from not too far away. It was one that the guards of Winterfell would use as a warning signal. Eddard suddenly became worried more about the horns than he did the wolves.

"Leave the doe. We need to head back, now!" Eddard commanded as he dropped the body from his shoulder as did Ser Rodrik. The men hastened through the forest leaving their kill for the wolves.

As they all pressed on through the trees, the voices of men shouting could be heard.

"Lord Stark! Lord Stark!" It didn't take long for the Eddard's party to find some of his men from the castle searching for him. There were at least twenty scattered throughout the trees and all of them looked worried.

"Over here!" Eddard called out.

One of the men saw the hunting party approaching. "I found them!" the guardsman charged though foliage to get to them. "Milord, there was an attack in the castle."

"In the castle? What do you mean?"

"A catspaw. We think he started a fire in the library tower to distract everyone. Your lady wife said he was after the king."

"The King is due south of us..wait, how did Catelyn know the assassin was after the king?"

"It's what he told her. He walked into your bastard's room thinking it was the king's and attacked her and your daughters. Lady Catelyn only took some cuts to her hands and her arm and your daughters are unharmed."

Ned sighed out in relief. "Thank the gods, but how did the catspaw get passed Ser Barristan?"

"He wasn't there milord. He left to help with the fire."

Eddard's relief vanished. "Then who stopped the assassin?"

"Theon Greyjoy. He stabbed the man with a kitchen knife."

Ser Rodrik gasped. "By the gods. Never thought an Ironborn would save a Stark after a bloody war against each other. So no one was killed?"

The guard was hesitant to speak, almost afraid to mutter words. "There was one death, Ser." He looked back to Eddard. "I'm sorry milord, but… your bastard took a knife in the heart."

Eddard lost all the air in his lungs and nearly stumbled over his feet. No, it wasn't true, it was a jest, a mistake, anything but truth. "A horse," Eddard muttered, "get me a horse!" He could already see where his men tied theirs down and shoved passed everyone before they could say anything.

Mounted and riding hard, Eddard could not feel the cold wind biting at his face or the burn in his legs. Every step he got closer to the castle, Lyanna's last words were speaking in his mind's against his own.

' _No.'_

' _Promise me, Ned.'_

' _No!'_

' _Promise me.'_

' _Gods NO!'_

Eddard didn't even realize it when he rode through the castle gate. He didn't pay attention to any he passed or care who he had to shove aside to get inside the castle.

Before he knew it, Eddard was at the open doorway of the room he gave to Jon. There was a stain of blood on the stone floor and Cat was in a chair with bandages covering her hands, Maester Luwin was washing his hands in a basin and the sleeves of his robes were covered in blood. And lying on the bed, eyes open and lifeless, chest bare and revealing two wounds from the stab of a knife, was Jon. Eddard almost fell to his knees when he stepped into the room.

Maester Luwin was shocked when he saw Eddard. "My lord Stark." He got in Eddard's way but was pushed aside.

"Ned," Catelyn said, "he…"

Eddard finally lost the strength in his legs when he reached Jon's bedside. He touched his fingers over Jon's face and felt nothing but cold. "No." He scooped Jon's body in his arms and held him like a newborn babe. Jon was limp and pale. He was dead, nothing was more clear no matter how much Eddard didn't want to believe it. Eddard hugged Jon to his body and screamed out his sadness and anger to the gods and burst into tears as the truth stabbed into him like sword. He failed to keep his promise to her. Lyanna's son, his son, was gone.

* * *

Daenerys

Daenerys shot awake as the cart she was sleeping in bumped over a rock in the road, but she didn't think that was the reason. She turned over and saw her brother resting his head on a sack of potatoes next to one of the dogs with them. She nudged his shoulder. "Viserys." He didn't respond the first time so she tried again. "Viserys."

Viserys grumbled as he shifted and his eyes cracked open slowly. "Dany? What's wrong?"

"I had a bad dream."

He sighed out at her. "Dany it was only dream, you have nothing to be afraid of."

"But it was so scary." And it felt so real.

Viserys shifted his body and scooted over a little. "Don't worry Dany, come lay with me and you'll be safe."

Daenerys laid up against her brother's body and a big arm fell over her. He felt like a warm blanket and it made her feel safer.

"Why don't you tell about your dream? It may help you get over it." His voice was mumbling as he was still half asleep.

Daenerys shivered when she thought about what she saw. "There was a man with a knife. He looked very scary. He was in a castle and tried to kill a woman but a little boy got in the way and got killed instead. The man called him a bastard, what is that?"

"It's a child born from parents that aren't married. They're the useless scum of Westeros. Even slaves have more importance than them." Viserys thought lowly of slaves, so bastards must be very bad.

That didn't make sense to Daenerys. Slaves had masters and no freedom, so how could being a bastard be worse? Are bastards evil? Do they cause nothing but trouble? The boy didn't look like a bastard, or else why would he get in the way of the man with the knife?

Viserys began snoring lightly. He had already fallen back asleep.

"He bled all over the floor and cried himself to death." Daenerys started to feel scared to go back to sleep. What if she had the dream again but the man with the knife came after her, or what if she had to watch the boy die again? That woman called him a name. She called him Snow and then Jon just before he died. If he was really a bastard, he didn't look worthless like Viserys said bastards were. She felt sorry that someone so young had to die like that. She wanted to cry, but she remembered that she was a Targaryen. 'I am a dragon, and a dragon does not cry,' was what her brother would say when she was ready to let a tear slip.

She shut her eyes and hoped for a good dream or none at all. There were many days and nights of traveling ahead of them on their way to Pentos and the faster they went the better.

Before Daenerys realized it, she had faded back into slumber. While she didn't dream, Daenerys could hear someone crying. It sounded like a man.

The morning came quick and the coolness of the night was vanishing quicker as the sun rose. But while there was still some chill in air and cold in the ground, the caravan had stopped for the morning to switch to the day drivers and for all to break their fast.

Viserys' arrangement with their driver provided food for them, but it wasn't as much as everyone else had. They had roasted potatoes with salt and some bread with honey, but Viserys and Daenerys were only given one potato and one slice of bread. They had to split their rations until the next meal.

"Eat it slowly, Dany." Viserys told her. He ate his bread first while Daenerys ate her potato. It was freshly cooked and the salt made it the taste more tolerable. It was better than the apples they ate the night before.

Viserys would have usually paid for better accommodation than riding in the back of a cart with dogs and potatoes, but with what treasure they had left after getting robbed in the city of Norvos they had to be careful how they spent. Once they got to Pentos, they would be able to sell some of their treasures for more money.

The rest of the day was to be spent as the last ones were, doing nothing but sitting in the cart all day with some potatoes and the two big guard dogs that followed behind. They didn't bark or bite unless given reason and slept in the wagon with Daenerys and Viserys at night.

The cart bumped along the rock filled trail and keeping steady proved to be a challenge for Daenerys. Viserys was lying back in the cart with a cloth over his eyes to shade him from the light of the sun. in his arms was a sack filled will hand forged metal trinkets, but hidden inside was a satchel with the last of the treasures.

With no one to talk to, not that anyone wanted to, Daenerys passed the time by practicing her High Valyrian.

"Se azantys fights lēda rigle, Zaldrīzoti sōvegon isse se jēdar, Iksan olvie biare naejot ūndegon se… se… Viserys, what's the word for castle in High Valyrian?"

"Sombāzmion." He replied.

"Iksan olvie biare naejot ūndegon se sombāzmion, se zokla ērinnon se zaldrīzes."

"The wolf victory the dragon? What are you trying to say?" Viserys sat up and took the cloth of his eyes. There was a little bit of anger in his expression.

"The wolf defeated the dragon."

Without warning Viserys reached out and slapped Daenerys across the face. Her cheek stung and her wrist was grabbed by Viserys when she tried to cover it. "Nothing can defeat a dragon," he hissed, "do you think I'm going to let those dogs in the North or that drunken usurper stand in my way when I sail with an army to take back the throne!?"

"No, I didn't mean it, I was just practicing!"

Viserys glared at Daenerys with a fire in his eyes before let go of her wrist and felt her cheek. He smiled at her, either relieved or satisfied. "Sweet sister, you almost woke the dragon, something you know you mustn't do." He sighed out and lied back down. "Why don't you try practicing something else?"

Viserys always got angry whenever the defeat of their family was mentioned. He hated to be reminded that a Usurper and his dog stole the throne and the kingdoms from their father, of how their brother was bewitched by a Northern whore. Anything about the Usurper's Rebellion risked waking the dragon. He never talked much about the war that led to their exile. When he did, it

was when he was in a good mood and felt the need to educate her about their home.

Before Daenerys could think of something else to do, the cart came to a stop.

Viserys sat back up. "What's going on?" He turned to the driver. "Why are we stopping?"

"Shut your mouth." The driver shot back. "Tryin to listen."

Daenerys leaned over the side of the cart and looked ahead. She could see a man on horseback speaking with the leader of the caravan. After a moment, the rider proceeded to speak with the other cart and wagon drivers. It didn't take long for the rider to get to cart Daenerys and Viserys were in.

"What's going on?" The driver asked.

"A Dothraki horde of two thousand screamers is about thirty miles west of here. You'll be taking a detour to the fork of the Rhoyne River to avoid them." The rider moved on to the wagon behind them and continued to relay his message.

The caravan had already begun to adjust its course, but the direction was mostly back the way they came.

"The fork of the Rhoyne?" Viserys asked. "how much longer will it take us now?"

"Backtracking and possible waiting… maybe a month until we get to the city."

"A month? We were supposed to arrive within the fortnight!"

The driver pulled on the reigns of his horse and halted the cart. "You're welcome to get out and walk there yourself, and don't forget the Dothraki. I'm very interested to know how you plan to get past them." The driver gave Viserys a heavy stare before Viserys turned away and laid down. "That's what I thought." The driver whipped the reigns and resumed to follow the rest of the caravan.

There's was about an hour of silence except for the wind and the grass waving in the breeze. A few horsemen had joined the caravan, though it probably so that if the Dothraki did find them, they could ride away while the caravan was raided. There were less than a dozen fighters so there wouldn't be much of a battle.

"Viserys," Daenerys said, "could you tell me more about our home?" The sting in her cheek had finally faded and Viserys now looked calm enough.

"Like what? I've told you everything you need to know that's important."

"But what about the things that aren't? I might as well know."

Viserys sat up. "Is there anything specific?"

She wanted to know more about her dream. The way things looked were unlike anything she had seen in Essos.. The only thing she could really ask about was the name she heard. "Is there a House Snow somewhere?"

Viserys scoffed. "Snow is the name given to bastards of the North." So this Jon Snow was from the North. "What made you ask?"

"It was in the bad dream last night." He must not remember waking up. "I saw a boy named Snow stabbed in the heart."

Viserys chuckled. "Well that's one less bastard to haunt your dreams. Bastards are the scum of Westeros." He had forgotten last night, but his attitude was the same. "They all have names for whichever kingdom the are born in. Sand, Flowers, Waters, Storm, Snow, any cursed to have these names is destined for nothing. The only bastards to ever rise up to power shared our blood."

"The Blackfyres."

Viserys nodded. "The blood of Valyria is sacred, and five rebellions came from tainted blood. Only Targaryens with pure blood get to sit on the Iron Throne. When I retake what was stolen from us, you'll be by my side, as my Queen."

Daenerys almost shuddered at the reminder. Viserys had taught her many times about keeping the Targaryen bloodline pure. She knew that her mother and father were brother and sister, but Ser Willem Darry once told her that her mother was married against her will. Viserys got mad when she asked about it, claiming that Ser Willem was lying. He told her that their father was a great man, and a great king, and their mother was a beautiful queen. But that didn't mean she was happy.

The ground changed from hard and rock filled to thick and grass as the caravan continued to go far off the trail. There were four men on horseback nearby with their swords drawn. Even though the Dothraki were far away, there were other dangers in these parts like bandits and outlaws, maybe even slavers.

"Viserys?" Dany said as she scooted closer to him. "Can you show me the crown again."

"Shh!" Viserys nearly hit her again but he held himself back this time. He leaned in close to her and whispered soft but harshly. "If anyone sees mother's crown out here we'll have our throats cut before tomorrow."

"I- I'm sorry. I didn't think-"

"No, you didn't think. You never think about anything, Dany. That kind of rashness will get you into trouble someday."

Viserys was one to talk. He was always acting rashly whenever someone did something to insult him. It's how they ended up getting robbed three moons ago and it's why they were forced out of Ser Willem's home after the kind knight died.

Daenerys pulled her knees to her body and kept quiet, trying to hide feeling ashamed.

Viserys sighed and pulled the bag to him. He opened it and rummaged deep before pulling out a small ashwood box with many carved patterns on the sides and their family sigil carved in the lid. "This is small enough to go unseen. You can look at this, but don't even think about dropping it. It has more value than the crown.

He handed the box to her and she carefully cracked the lid. When she opened it all the way, a small red ruby caught the light of the sun at the perfect angle that made it glow like a flame. The ruby was carved into the Targaryen sigil, something that could not be done by any jeweler today. Only the Valyrians before the Doom had the skill to do such a thing. The rest of the ring was made of a metal called platinum, a metal more valuable than gold but only a tenth the value of Valyrian Steel. The metal was shaped like flames so intricately that when they reflected in light it was like they moved.

"It's so beautiful." Daenerys said.

"It's not Valyrian Steel, but that ring has as much worth as three swords made of it. That will buy us our army, Dany," he told her, his eyes wide and unfocused "That ring is the key to taking back our home."

* * *

Catelyn

Winterfell was colder than it had been for thousands of years. Not a single smile was seen the morning after the assassination attempt. News of the death spread fast and Ned had kept himself in his room after he woke the entire castle with his howling last night. Everyone was in a state of mourning, but when Robb found out he was nearly as heartbroken as Ned was.

None of the children were handling things well. Sansa and Arya couldn't sleep at all and Robb barely ate anything for breakfast. Theon Greyjoy didn't show his face around the castle after killing the catspaw.

Ravens had been sent to nearly all the Houses of North telling of the attempted murder of the King and the death of Jon Snow. Some went to the south mainly to inform those in service to the King.

Catelyn was with Maester Luwin getting her bandages changed. The cuts on her arm and hands were spared of any rot thanks to quick treatment, but they would scar and never fade. They would forever mark her body as a reminder of the prayer that was granted and remind her of her cruelty she gave to a boy for all eight years of his life.

"Is there any pain, my lady?" Maester Luwin asked.

"Just a little." She told him. "But it's nothing unbearable." She could still feel the sting of the blade's cut in her palms. More than that the cuts were cold and could not be warmed.

Maester Luwin finished wrapping her wounds with fresh bandages. Aside from her, two guards received burns from the fire last night. They were resting on beds for the sick and wounded.

Having no more reason to be tended to, Catelyn left to go do something she had to do. Something she begged for but was denied by the gods. Now only a king could give her what she sought.

King Robert had been furious that an assassin tried to kill him, even more so that a child of Ned's took a knife meant for him. At first he blamed the Greyjoys, thinking that an Ironborn sent the catspaw to exact revenge for their lost rebellion. He demanded Theon Greyjoy to be executed, but after many calming words and convincing from his Kingsguard and a few of the Stark Household, Ser Rodrik included, the King agreed to stay his hammer. But the only reason he agreed to was because it was Ned's life to take.

Catelyn knew Ned well enough that he would never take Theon Greyjoy's life to pay for Jon's, but she had never seen him in such a state.

Approaching the King's room, Catelyn had to pass the one Jon was in and the door was wide open. Looking for just a moment, she saw the blood stains were scrubbed from the floor, the assassin's body gone, and lying underneath a clean white sheet was a dead boy. A great cold engulfed Catelyn's heart when she saw the outline of Jon's body and she took faster steps when she passed the room.

Arriving at the door to the King's room guarded by Ser Barristan, Catelyn knocked thrice and waited for a response.

"Yes?" The King's voice called.

Ser Barristan announced her. "It's Lady Catelyn, your grace."

"Send her in." Ser Barristan opened the door and Catelyn stepped in. The King was sitting on the edge of his bed and across from him was Ser Jaime. "Leave us, Kingslayer." Ser Jaime bowed his head and left the room, leaving the King with Catelyn. "My lady, I'm sorry for your husband's loss."

"Thank you, your grace."

"Now, what can I do for you?"

"Your grace," Catelyn began, trying to keep herself humble, "my husband is still in a state of… mourning. On his behalf I wish to express House Stark's apologies for allowing such an event occur. Had you not gone on a hunt, you may very well have met the assassin's blade instead."

"That I might have. But there is nothing to apologize for. Ned is the one who suffered from this. And the boy took a knife meant for me. I won't forget these past few days, ever. I am in debt to him, but I cannot repay the dead."

"Your grace," Catelyn said, "If it isn't too much of me to say, but if you truly mean to pay that debt, I know of a way you can." The king arched his brow and waited for Catelyn to tell him. "I beg of you, let the boy be buried with his father's name. Let him rest with is kin as a Stark."

"You're asking me to legitimize him?"

"I am, your grace."

"I heard from Ned that you have a certain scorn for the bastard. It surprises me that you would make a request such as this."

"I did hate him, your grace. But he was only a child, he didn't deserve my hatred in life. He deserves peace in death."

The King glared at her for a few seconds, like he was studying her. "I'll think about it. However, I have some urgent matters I need to discuss with my Kingsguard. I'll give you my answer before the day is over."

"Thank you, your grace." Catelyn curtseyed and left the King's room.

In her heart, Catelyn hoped that the King would be willing to do such a thing, to give Jon what he did not have in life.

She opened the door to the chambers and saw Ned sitting against the wall underneath an open window. His gaze was fixed to the ground and anyone would have mistaken him to be dead as well. Catelyn had no idea why, but she was just as afraid to be in Ned's presence as she was to be in the Winterfell godswood. She approached him slowly, but he didn't move a single inch or show any sign of acknowledgement. "Ned," her voice in a state of remorse, "I've just spoken with Robert and… I've asked him to naturalize Jon before his burial." Ned didn't respond, he didn't even look at her, he just kept his gaze to the ground. "I'm sorry, Ned. I'm sorry for everything I did to him, the harshness, the cruelty. I should have been a mother to him. He was your son and never knew a mother's love. I'm not asking for forgiveness, I don't deserve it-"

"He wasn't my son."

Catelyn felt a loss of breath. She thought she imagined his voice and the words he said, but in her heart she knew she didn't. "You… he-"

"He was Lyanna's. Her trueborn son with Rhaegar." He finally looked up to Catelyn. "I promised her I would protect him on her deathbed, I promised her and I failed."

Catelyn nearly fell backwards when she heard what she did. Her eyes locked with Ned's and she couldn't believe what just said. There wasn't a single trace of dishonesty in his words, but they couldn't be true.

"I couldn't tell you, I couldn't tell anyone. I couldn't let him be killed like his brother and sister."

He spoke so plainly, yet his words were like a great flood that consumed Catelyn, swallowed her to the deepest depths. Breathing started to become a difficulty and she stumbled backwards, barely catching herself on the wall. His words kept repeating themselves in her mind, but one thing stood out to her. "Her… and Rhaegar's trueborn?"

Ned sighed. "Everything the Rebellion was built on wasd a lie. Rhaegar never kidnapped her or raped. They loved each other and ran away together, marrying in secret in Dorne."

Now Catelyn wished she never knew this. She had not the words nor the wisdom of how to respond. Things started to make more sense now, and yet they were much more confusing to her. But above all the one thing that Catelyn had struggled to realize for so long was Ned's motives. Catelyn had realized that Jon came from a woman Ned loved fiercely, she just never thought it to be his own blood, his sister.

Catelyn felt the strength in her legs leaving her. She moved to a chair and sat down and caught her breath. All this time, she hated the boy for being something he wasn't. And he was a King, the last trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen.

"I'm sorry Cat," Ned said. "There were so many times I wanted to tell you, to tell Benjen, but I couldn't. The only people who knew swore a vow of secrecy."

There were others that knew. Before Catelyn could ask, there was a knock on the door before Ser Jaime entered. "My lord, my lady, the king wishes a word." For the first time of ever seeing him, the Kingslayer did not wear that smug look on his face.

Ned tried to stand up, but his legs were weak and he nearly fell to the ground had he not caught himself on the bed. After a moment Ned found his strength and stood straight.

Ser Jaime stood aside as the King entered the room. "Ned, gods you look terrible." The king sighed out heavily. "When I lost my firstborn, I was in rage, but to have a child murdered it's just… I can't imagine what you are feeling."

Ned didn't give any form of response except closing his eyes and dropping his head.

"I've come to inform you that my company and I will be heading back for King's Landing in a few days. Should another assassin come, I would not give them the chance to endanger another child of my friend. And once Jon hears of this, he'll be an utter wreck for my safety and for your condition."

Ned lifted his head up and opened his eyes. "I understand."

"But after some thought, I've agreed to your wife's request."

Ned looked over at Catelyn, puzzled.

"I'll have the document written by tonight, but on the morrow, your son will be Jon Stark."

' _Except now he doesn't need it. He never was a bastard.'_ Catelyn thought.

Ned shifted his gaze to Robert, wide eyed and mouth gaping. "Robert, I… thank you for this."

The King nodded at Ned with half a smile. "I shall take my leave." Robert made his way for the door but then stopped. "Oh, I nearly forgot to ask." He turned back to Ned. "What do you plan to do with the Greyjoy whelp? I know he killed the assassin, but we still don't know who sent the monster. For all we know he was sent by Balon and Theon didn't know."

Ned shook his head. "It couldn't have been Balon, not with his heir here and his armies broken. Even if it was, Theon's blade wasn't the one that killed Jon."

The King sighed. "Whatever the verdict, the boys fate lies in your hands." He left the room after that.

The Kingslayer stayed for a brief moment. "You have my condolences, Stark." He left without uttering another word.

Catelyn sat back down in her chair and nearly buried her face in her hands before remembering the healing cuts on her palms. Everything was becoming more catastrophic by the hour. Catelyn felt as Ned did at her in the godswood when she confessed to him. She wanted to shout, to yell, to scream at something and she didn't know why. She was so confused and frustrated, she couldn't think calmly.

"Ned," She said with a controlled tone, "I do not know what you expect me to say to you. I understand why now and at the same time I still can't believe it. But right now, our children need you. Robb and Sansa are scared and Arya doesn't know what happened. They need their father." Catelyn had been taken away by Maester Luwin for healing before she could be with the children, she hadn't seen them since last night. Ned nodded in understanding as he got up and went to where the children were.

They were all with Benjen in his room, all except for Theon Greyjoy. Benjen sat alone in a chair with his sword on his lap, as if he was expecting another attack. The children all sat on his bed against the backing. Arya was lying across Robb's lap and Sansa was hugging his arm, all of them asleep.

Benjen got up and set his sword aside when he saw Ned and Catelyn at the door. "Glad you finally showed your face." He was clearly irritated at Ned. "You have the right to mourn more than anyone, but that doesn't mean you leave your children scared for the whole night." Arya had suddenly started to fuss and cry, waking up Robb and Sansa. "I'll be in the training yard if you need me." Benjen left the room.

Catelyn hurried over to Arya and sat her up. "Arya," she spoke soothingly, "are you alright, were you having a bad dream."

Arya nodded as she wiped the tears off her face. "Scary man hurt mama." She was dreaming of last night. At her age such a event would haunt her at night for a long time.

"Father?" Robb said, "is Jon really gone? Is he dead?"

Ned silently nodded. "The knife that killed him pierced his heart… there was no chance to save him." Robb was on the verge of crying as was Sansa.

"Mama," Arya said, "what dead?"

Catelyn wasn't sure how to explain this so Arya could understand. Her baby girl was only two years old so she wouldn't know half of what Catelyn told her. She tried to remember when she first learned what death meant. It was when her mother died with her baby brother in childbirth. Father was never the same after that day.

Catelyn took Arya into her arms, ignoring the pain in her hands. She had no answer to give.

"We never even got to say goodbye," Sansa said.

Ned took Sansa's small hand in his, trying to give her comfort. "Death is never a goodbye. Though Jon may be gone from us, his memory will remain with us always. He will sleep eternally in the crypts with our kin and always be with us in here." Ned placed a finger over Sansa's heart. "But if it would help you feel better, would like to say goodbye?" Sansa nodded as did Robb. "You will get to before he is taken to the crypts."

"But what about right now?" Robb asked.

"Now? Are you sure you want to see him now?"

"He's my brother. I want to see him as much as I can before he goes into the crypts."

Ned nodded. "Very well. Sansa, would you like come with us?"

Sansa didn't say anything. She just held onto Ned's hand as he and Robb left.

Catelyn followed after them with Arya still in her arms, but she dared not enter the room where Jon was. She waited outside the door with Arya, listening.

"Goodbye, big brother." Sansa said.

"The last time I'll see ya, you'll be all in black." Robb tried to keep his spirits up, but he later broke into tears.

It wasn't a long visit, but they all took their time inside. Ned came out with the children and closed the door behind him. "Robb, could watch over Sansa and Arya for today? There's something I need to do."

Robb sniffed up at Ned. "Yes father."

Catelyn set Arya down and the two girls followed after Robb without any objection. Once they were gone, Ned swiftly turned back and walked down the hallway. "Ned? What is it?"

"The knife that killed Jon, it wasn't with the catspaw's remains and no one knows where it is, but I think know who has it."

Catelyn almost forgot about the knife. It wasn't a common looking weapon. There was gold in the handle and maybe even a jewel or two. The knife had gone missing that night, no one but a few had been in the room and none of them had it. But when Catelyn found herself with Ned at the door to Theon's room, she realized that he was gone before anyone else came.

Ned didn't bother knocking and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He banged his fist against the wood. "Theon? Open the door." There was no response. "Theon open the door or I swear by the Old Gods and the New I will break it down!" He wasn't in a fury, but possibly on the brinks of one. After a moment, the sound of the lock clicked and the door cracked open.

Theon Greyjoy appeared, looking absolutely terrified. He backed away, seeking the cover of his bed, when Ned and Cat entered.

"Where's the knife, Theon?"

"I can't tell you." Theon replied.

"Dammit! Where's the knife!?"

"I can't!" Theon had tears welling up in his eyes. "Or I'm going to be killed."

"Theon, you killed the man who murdered my son and saved my family, why on earth would I kill for taking the knife?"

"Because… It's my uncle Euron's." Ned nearly froze when he heard that. Theon crawled under his bed and came back up with the knife, still stained red with Jon's blood. "I mean, it used to be. He gave it to someone before he was exiled."

"Gave? Ironborn don't give things, they only take. Are lying to me?"

"I promise I'm not! I was playing hide and seek with Maron and Yara and I saw him giving to a rich man."

Hearing that meant that maybe the attack was from the Ironborn at all, maybe it was someone else.

"This rich man, do you remember what he looked like?"

"He had short black hair, he dressed like a southerner. I saw his face but I can't describe it."

"Do you know how old he looked?"

"He looked your age, but that was because he had a beard. My brother Rodrik showed me that he looked a lot older with his beard but younger when he shaved it. That's all I know."

"But did he say anything? Anything that sounded unusual or stood out?"

Theon shook his head as he picked up the dagger and handed it to Ned for closer inspection. Ned didn't touch it though, he didn't even reach out to pick it up. How could he touch the weapon killed his nephew?

"Valyrian Steel," Ned mutter, "gold, rubies, and dragonbone handle, this is far too valuable to have been given. And there is absolutely no chance that the assassin owned it. Such a thing is too precious to risk losing."

If it was no longer Euron Greyjoy's and not the assassin's then it must be the one who acquired it from Euron. But now the question was who was he?


	7. Chapter 7

Eddard

The next few days in Winterfell were quiet ones. Many of the ravens returned with letters of condolences or notices of Lords that would be traveling to Winterfell to pay their respects. Some were even able to ride to the castle in that time. Medgar Cerwyn, Gregor Forrester, Helman Tallhart, Ryon Dormund, and Alfred Welric had all arrived within two days of the ravens being sent. Their companies were small and would only be staying a few days after the burial. Housing them and the other lords that were coming wouldn't be a burden since there would be no great feast or celebration. House Bolton was the only House that replied with apologies. Roose Bolton was away on business in the south but his son, Domeric, would be representing him.

Robert had already taken his leave days ago. By now he would getting close to White Harbor. He had many offers for Ned before he left, anything that might help him forget about all of this. But nothing Robert suggested would ever come close. The only thing that had any real value to anyone north of the Neck were men for the Watch. Robert offered a thousand men, but it wasn't Ned's place to accept.

Almost everyone around tried to give Eddard something to help ease his loss. But the only thing he wanted was taken and couldn't come back.

He was in his room, going through the many replies that arrived that morning, when one of his men entered. "Milord Stark, riders from House Reed are nearing the gates."

Howland. Eddard had completely forgotten about Howland coming. Did he ever receive word of the attack and about Jon? "I'll be out shortly." Before Ned got out of his seat, he noticed one of the ravenscrolls was sealed with a sigil of three swords forming a triangle. ' _How could he have learned of this so fast?'_ He picked up the scroll, breaking the seal and unraveled it.

 _Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North_

 _-I never should have trusted you-_

 _Ser Dillion Silversight_

It pained Eddard to read those words that bore the truth. But he couldn't help but deny that Jon might have been worse off if he had remained unknown to the world with Dillion. He made a promise to Lyanna to keep Jon safe, but clearly he was wrong to think he could. His growing anger made him crumple the parchment in his hand. He had to face Howland now.

Before Eddard left his room, he tossed the scroll into the fire in his hearth. He made sure it burned into nothing before he set foot into the hallway.

When Eddard was in the courtyard, Howland and his men were already dismounted of their horses. It had been five years since last he saw Howland. He grew a thick bear that went from ear to ear, short and brown. His clothes has small flecks of moss and stains of green of the swamp.

When Howland's gaze found Eddard, he turned somber and glum. He knew. "Lord Stark."

"Lord Reed." There was an awkward pause between them. "We should speak privately."

"Aye, that would be best." Howland followed Ned to the one place no one would look to bother them. But halfway to the sept, Eddard froze in his steps. "Ned?"

"I should have listened to you. I should have listened to... Dillion. Dammit, why didn't I listen?" Anger swelled up within him. That day at the tower everyone had pleaded with Eddard to keep Jon's existence hidden from the world. Send him to live in the Reach, keep him in Dorne, send him to Greywater, but Ned brought him to Winterfell.

"You didn't listen because Lyanna asked you to protect him, not me or the others. We had no right to ignore her dying wish. Things might have been different, but it doesn't matter now. We can't change the past, only act on what we learned from it."

Always the one for words. Eddard pressed on to the sept, pondering what Howland said.

Catelyn was kneeling before the statue of the mother in prayer. But when she heard Eddard and Howland walk in, she abruptly finished early. "My lord, who is this?" she asked.

"Catelyn, this is Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch and the crannogmen."

"Lord Reed," Catelyn curtsied to Howland upon learning his identity, "I apologize for not recognizing you. We met at Riverrun all those years ago, but I do not recall what you looked like."

"There's nothing to apologize for. I was clean shaven in those days."

"Howland," Eddard began, "I told her about Jon."

Howland was shocked but did well not to show it. "You told her?"

"Aye."

"Ned," Catelyn said, "do you mean to tell me that Howland knew as well?" Eddard didn't answer so that she could try and figure it out. "He was with you, of course he knew. Is there anyone else?"

"Aye," Ned told her, "the handmaid who helped Lyanna with the birth and a knight. I don't know what happened to Wylla, but I received a raven from Dillion today. I know that neither of them would break their promise."

"Benjen doesn't know? You own brother?"

"He was too young at the time and now… I'm not sure if he should." The more who knew the greater chance someone who shouldn't would learn. And by law Eddard had been committing treason against the crown for harboring an enemy of the realm. And Robert's personal hatred to the Targaryens would only make things worse. "I will tell him, but when the time is right."

"When will that time be?" Howland asked.

"I don't know. But maybe it's better he doesn't. No one else should. At least for now." Ned excused himself from Catelyn and Howland. He needed to gather his thoughts. He trusted Benjen with his life, but secrets were things that spill just as much a wine. One drop could leave a stain that never washes.

While returning indoors, Ser Rodrik had found him. "My lord, Robb is in the room and refuses to leave."

"The room?" It only took a moment for Ned to realise which one. "Nevermind, I'll go see to him personally."

It didn't take long to reach the door to the room. When Ned entered, he saw no one there until he turned his head and found Robb sitting in the corner of the room, gazing over at the bed. The sheets were pulled over to cover Jon's body and hide the pale skin.

"Robb, what are you doing in here?"

Robb sniffed before answering. "I thought that maybe if I waited or if prayed to Gods hard enough, Jon might wake up. He could come back to us and keep being my brother."

Ned walked over and slid down next to his son. "When did he ever stop being your brother?"

"Never, I just meant…" Robb's jaw started to shake and his eyes welled with tears. "He's right there, but I miss him so much."

Ned pulled Robb and his arms and let Robb cry heavily into his shoulder. With his heart breaking, he said, "I do too, believe me I do."

* * *

The night was as quiet as it was calm. The moon was swallowed by thick grey clouds before the twilight hour came and a light snow flurry began. A gentle breeze carried every snowflake to glide rather than fall and the air was cold, yet a certain warmth was present at the same time.

Lanterns were lit all around Winterfell to radiate a contained light that illuminated the godswood and those gathered. As well as those who lived in Winterfell, many of the other Northern Houses had presented themselves to give their respects and condolences, though it was for their lord who lost a son, not for the boy who died. Raised high among the trees were the banners of Houses Glover, Forrester, Woods, Dormund, Holt, Cerwyn, Bolton, Hornwood, Tallhart, Welric, Reed, and Manderly. They decorated enough to make the night worthy of a king.

In the sight of the weirwood lay Jon on a oak bier and under a newly made Stark banner like a blanket. His body had been cleaned and prepared in the evening for his burial. He wore a fine black leather doublet, boots, and breeches. Around his shoulders was his own personal wool cloak, the wolf pelt resting over his shoulder. His hair lay scattered under his head and his arms were across his chest, hands resting together at the center of his ribs. His eyes were cracked open, almost as if Jon was taking one last look at the world. The color of them had paled and were empty. Though the snow that fell all around melted on touch of the skin, the snow that fell on Jon's face remained.

Septon Chayle offered to give Jon the rights of the Seven earlier, but the funeral would be a Northern one, in the sight and presence of the Old Gods. Though there were no rites or religious words in the worship of the Old Gods, Eddard had taken it upon himself to present a eulogy. He didn't give as much care or attention to Jon as he should have, and he would damn himself if he didn't do it now.

Catelyn stood to Eddard's left and their children to hers. Theon Greyjoy stood at the end of the row as was his right as ward of Winterfell. Bran was in a handmaiden's arms, asleep and calm. Arya was either sad or cold, but she held onto Sansa's hand for comfort. Robb was the only one of his siblings red eyed from fresh tears. To Eddard's right was Benjen who was more composed than anyone else. He had seen more than his share of death at the Wall.

Eddard stepped forward and let his voice reach out to all around, but he kept his gaze firm on Jon's face. "We never choose when our time ends. It comes when we least want it, be it old age or after just entering the world." Eddard's voice was on the verge of breaking. "But what matters is what we make ourselves in that time. Jon was bastard by birth, only a half brother by blood to his brothers and sisters but a true brother in life. He was kind to them all, never fighting or angering them. I just wish I could have done more for him. He was the blood of the First Men, the Kings of Winter, a Stark, and my son. And now, he will rest with his family." He said about half of what he wanted to say but couldn't, and only half of what he wish he didn't say. Jon was no bastard, and Eddard couldn't even give him that honor publically in death.

Before Jon was to be carried on his bier into the crypts to his tomb, Eddard walked up to Jon's body a placed a hand on his head, caressing his raven hair with his thumb and laying a kiss above his brow.

Eddard let slip a tear as he backed away and watched as Jon was lift up and taken to rest with his family, both ancestors of old and recent, with his mother. Eddard and Catelyn followed behind with the children and those wishing to pay their respects after them.

Only Eddard and Howland remained in the crypts once everyone had come to light a candle after Jon's tomb was sealed. Catelyn had made a garland of winter roses and layed it over the covering when all had taken their turn and Sansa had an embroidery of a white wolf on a grey field she made placed with them.

Eddard held one of the winter roses in his hands, observing every detail about it. "Lyanna loved flowers as much as she did riding, the winter roses especially." Eddard spoke openly. "I thought that having a small garland of them on Jon's tomb could act as a silent message only I would know." Eddard place the rose he had with the rest of the others. "I never told him anything about her. He knew of his aunt but nothing of his mother. Not even that she loved him."

Howland spoke softly to him. "He will know now, Ned. He will rest with his mother and father beyond the end of our days. His whispers will be heard with hers among the weirwoods until the world fades into dust."

No words could soothe the pain in Eddard's heart, and no knowledge or religion or magic would bring him comfort. "No father should have to bury their child, Howland." Eddard fell to his knees and broke down in tears. This never should have happened, it wasn't supposed to.

* * *

Ned and those in his company, Martyn Cassel, Howland Reed, Theo Wull, Ethan Glover, Mark Ryswell, and Willam Dustin, halted their horses when they finally reached the Tower of Joy. The light of the setting sun changed the color of the tower from pale to a fiery orange, like if the tower were in flames.

They all dismounted their destriers and walked on the small path leading to the entrance of the tower. Everyone put a hand to their weapons when the three knights of the Kingsguard brandished themselves into sight, their armor no longer gleaming gallantly but covered in sand and dust.

The Lord Commander Gerold Hightower and Ser Arthur Dayne approached to meet Ned and his company while Ser Oswald remained seated on a nearby rock, sharpening his massive broadsword and not giving a second glance to anyone. Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold removed their helms and held them under their arms and scanned those that approached them.

Ser Arthur drew his legendary ancestral sword from its scabbard and planted it into the ground when both parties halted. Ser Gerold kept a stern face, the only movement his body made was his white mustache getting caught in the breeze. "Lord Stark." Ser Gerold greeted.

"I looked for you on the Trident." Ned replied.

"We were not there."

Ser Oswell broke his silence after a long stroke with his whetstone on the edge of the blade. "Woe to the Usurper if we had been."

Ned eyed the three knights with a fierceness that matched a direwolf. "When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew the Mad King with a golden sword… and I wondered where you were."

"Far away," Ser Gerold replied, "or Aerys would yet sit on the Iron Throne and our false brother would burn in seven hells!" At this point, Ser Oswald got up to his feet, keeping his sword drawn, and the other two knights rested their hands on their weapons.

"The Mad King is dead. Rhaegar was slain at the Trident. Why weren't you there to protect your prince?"

Ser Arthur spoke. "Our prince wanted us here. We swore a vow to obey him."

"And now he's dead, the last of the Targaryens have fled, a boy and a babe. Ser Willem Darry took them away."

"Ser Willem is a good and true knight." Ser Oswald said. "But we are Kingsguard, we do not flee. Our vows are for life. Only our deaths will release us."

A scream erupted the air, coming from the top of the tower. Ned looked up at a black window and back to the three knights. "What has happened to my sister?" Ned's fingers slid from the pommel of his sword to the handle.

None of the knights answered. Ser Gerold and Ser Arthur donned their helms. "I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come." Arthur told Ned. "And now it begins." Arthur drew Dawn from the ground at the same time he did his other sword. Ser Gerold had armed himself with a longsword.

"No. Now it ends." Ned drew his sword from its scabbard and the other men armed themselves with their weapons.

Howland was the first to charge forward with his three pronged spear. He met his spear with Gerold's longsword. Just as everyone else had begun to fight, Howland brought his spear up to catch Ser Gerold's sword, but the blade of the sword cut through the shaft of the spear and sliced across Howland's chest. Howland collapsed to the ground as his blood began to stain his clothes and armor.

Ned stepped forward with Martyn and he met his sword with Ser Gerold's. Theo Wull fought with Mark Ryswell against Ser Oswald while Ethan and Willam fought Ser Arthur. Ser Gerold was a veteran of war, and his skill was to reckoned with. Ned had barely saved himself with a parry, but he was forced to retreat back. In that short moment Martyn was disarmed and Ser Gerold drove his sword into Martyn's chest. Before Martyn's body hit the ground, Ned furiously attacked Ser Gerold.

Ser Oswald met his giant broadsword with Theo's battle axe. Mark Ryswell used this chance to strike his sword at Ser Oswald. But Ser Oswald's armor held true and withstood the blow. He pushed Theo back and fought against Mark. Mark's skill favored mounted combat giving him a disadvantage. Sure enough he lost his footing and fell back. Ser Oswald drove his sword into Mark's chest, piercing through castle forged steel armor. But in doing so, Ser Oswald's sword had become stuck, and his neck was met with Theo's axe.

Though the White Bull had more experience, his age was putting a toll on his body. Ned had greater speed and used it at the right moment. He ducked under a slash from Ser Gerold and when he rose up, Ned drove the tip of his sword into Ser Gerold's neck.

Ser Gerold spat up blood and squirmed before his eyes rolled back and his body went limp. Ned drew his sword out of Ser Gerold and looked over to Ser Arthur, Theo, Ethan, and Willam. The sword of the Morning displayed far greater skill than his two brothers and easily held his own against the three Northmen. Even when Ned had joined them, Ser Arthur looked as if he was toying with them. Willam attacked too hastily and Ser Arthur broke the blade of his sword with Dawn before slicing through Willam's neck.

Ethan charged forward, trying to take Ser Arthur off guard but his steel shield was pierced by Dawn and cut deep into his arm. The pain made Ethan tense and the end of Ser Arthur's other sword stuck deep through Ethan's armor and body. Ser Arthur freed his weapons and shoved Ethan's body away from him.

Theo roared out and swung his axe down at Ser Arthur, disarming the knight of his second sword. Both he and Ned attacked together, but every time there was an opening, Ser Arthur closed it with Dawn with almost impossible speed. Theo raised his axe like an executioner, completely intending to cleave Ser Arthur in two. But his axe was never brought down. Ser Arthur dodged a strike from Ned and drove Dawn into Theo's head.

Theo's axe slipped from his fingers and he fell hard on the ground as Ser Arthur drew his sword out and turned back to Ned. It was just the two of them now, facing off in sand littered with blood of their allies. There was a brief pause before they engaged one other, a calm before the duel that would determine the victor.

Ned took a deep breath and took the first move. He lunged forward and was met with a parry from Ser Arthur. The two of them fought a dance of steel, their swords ringing like sept bells every time they met.

Ned finally noticed that Ser Arthur constantly left his side unprotected more than his right. He used this one and only chance he had and swung at Arthur's left after forcing him to block heavily on his right. But what Ned didn't expect was for Arthur to use the momentum of his back to spin around with great speed. He brought Dawn up and struck Ned's sword out of his hand.

The two of them locked eyes for only a second before Arthur raised Dawn up to strike at Ned. But from behind, Howland grabbed onto Arthur's sword arm and stabbed a dagger into his back. Arthur cried out as he fell to his knees and dropped Dawn, the hilt landed at Ned's feet. Ned picked up the sword and looked at Ser Arthur once again. The Sword of the Morning was coughing up blood and looked at him strangely, He wasn't angry, or upset, but almost like he was assuring Ned of something.

Before Ned could end Ser Arthur's life, there was another cry from the top of the tower.

Eddard turned around and was inside the room at the top of the tower. Before him was a bed. The sheets were stained with blood and wilting winter roses were scatter both on and around the bed. Under the blood soaked sheets was Lyanna, covered in sweat and blood. Her face and eyes were red from tears.

"Lyanna." Ned set Dawn against the foot of the bed and rushed over to his sister's side.

"Ned?" Lyanna's looked up to him. "Is that you?"

"Aye, it's me Lyanna. I'm right here." Ned took his gloves off and then took Lyanna's hand in his. She was cold, too cold. "I've come for you."

"Oh Ned, it's too late for me." She croaked, her voice coming to no softer than a whisper.

"No, it's not." Ned wouldn't let her die after all he'd lost to get her back now, he couldn't.

"I don't want to die, Ned." Tears began flowing from her eyes. "I want to be brave."

"You're not going to die!"

Breaking through Ned's growing worry, a baby began to cry out. Ned turned his gaze to a servant girl with a babe in her arms, a red newborn bundled in a soft white blanket.

"Listen to me Ned…" Lyanna squeezed his hand and pulled him in closer. "His name…" she whispered, "it doesn't matter anymore now, does it?"

Ned became suddenly confused. "Lyanna?"

"You didn't protect him." Her tears began to turn into tears of blood and her grip tightened greatly. "He was just a child and you let him die!"

"No, Lyanna! I didn't mean to let it happen!"

"You promised me, Ned! You promised me!" Lyanna's screams shook the foundations of the tower.

Ned freed his hands from Lyanna's grip and backed away, afraid of her and ashamed. He backed into something hard, but it wasn't the wall. He turned around and saw all who fought and died outside standing before him, there wounds remained and armor stained in their blood.

Ned turned his gaze to the servant girl. But she was replaced by the assassin that came in the night. He had the valyrian dagger with him, the blood still stained with Jon's blood. At his feet was Jon, bleeding on the floor from the stabs in his chest.

"You promised me!" Lyanna screamed. "You promised me!"

"Lyanna!" Ned shouted.

* * *

Catelyn

The weight of sleep would not find Catelyn this night. She lay alone in her bed, tossing and turning but never finding ease. Ever since she spoke with Ned in the godswood, she took to separate chambers. She missed him being next to her, but she did not deserve to be with him now. She was at war with herself inside. The guilt of her prayer still weighed heavy on her. She saw it as a betrayal to not only her husband, but her family. Family, Duty, Honor, those were the words of her father's House and she had failed them all.

Regardless of the truth, Jon was a son to Ned. Bastard or no he was a son and one who never knew his mother or a mother's love. Even though not a blood in his veins was Tully, he was a Stark more than she. As mother, she had a duty to love her children, but for Jon all she had was hate. Her prayer to the gods, she may as well have wielded the knife that killed him. To pray for a child's death for the sins of the father, what honor did she have left after that?

Catelyn was in mourning for the boy and regretted for her actions, but she was also angry at Ned. If only he told her the truth years ago, if only she knew. But that wouldn't have been enough. Howland had told her so yesterday when they were alone after meeting.

 _They were in the Sept, no one else would be around until midday so they had no worry about being disturbed._

" _Have you spoken much with him?" Howland asked her._

" _He hardly speaks to anyone now. He's becoming the Quiet Wolf all over again. I just don't understand why he never told me."_

" _How could he have? He met you the day you both wed and was gone by morning. He didn't know you and hardly knew your family. He didn't know if would betray the boy's true name to the crown or be loyal to the family you were now a part of. Your house words are what kept him from saying anything. Would you have remained loyal to your family or him? Would you have done your duty to the crown or him? Would you have stayed quiet to save the life of a 'dragonspawn'?"_

 _Howland was right about that. The Rebellion had created such an anger towards the Targaryens, Jon would been next to his half brother and sister if the world knew of him. And Catelyn always had pride in her children. She would have panicked that her children were in danger being near a Targaryen. And not only that, but would she have truly treated him better or would she have seen him as dragonspawn like the king rather than a bastard?_

" _Years ago I offered to take Jon as my ward at Greywater Watch. The crannogmen are known to be… isolated from the rest of the country. But Ned refused, his promise bound him to watching over Jon. And even though he rarely showed it from what I've been told, he had love for the boy. He was the living memory of Lyanna."_

Lyanna. Everything Ned had done was to protect Jon for Lyanna. Her hatred of him only helped cloak his true identity.

Catelyn's thoughts were broken when a shriek that could wake the dead howled throughout the castle. She recognized the voice as Ned's and hearing it made her terrified. Was he being attacked? Was there another assassin sent out?

She rushed out of her bed and into the darkness of the halls and saw the light of a torch at Ned's door. In the light was Ser Rodrik and Jory Cassel, wearing their night clothes and with their swords in hand. Four other of the castle guard had caught up with them in full armor and carrying torches.

"What happened? Is Ned alright?" Catelyn asked. "It sounded like he was attacked."

"He might as well have been," Rodrik replied, "I've never known a night terror make a man sound like that."

A night terror? Mother have mercy on any man who would be pained so much in their dreams.

"I'll see to him." Catelyn informed. "The rest of you return to your posts."

"Should we stand guard at the door, milady?" Jory asked.

"No, that won't be needed." Catelyn told them.

"As you wish, Lady Stark." The men left together when Catelyn opened the door again, this time slowly. She crept in and softly closed the door behind her. She saw Ned on the side of the bed on the ground, sitting against a nightstand.

"I told you to leave," he said through his teeth. He looked up and saw that it was Catelyn standing before him. "Shouldn't you be on your way to Riverrrun?" He was acting like he was drunk on wine.

"I've decided to stay." Her place was here now more than ever. Her children needed her here. She couldn't just leave them with Ned as he was.

"Wherever you decide to be, may it be out of my presence. Now leave me." If he was angry at her or himself, she could not tell. It was plainly obvious, at least. that the guilt of his failure and breaking his promise was all that stirred in him, and Catelyn had grown worried and tired of it. She had to do something to bring him out of his grief and anger, but she was not sure this was the right idea. Still she went ahead with it anyway.

"I will not leave my husband to grieve for his sister's mistakes." She straightened her body when Ned shot her a bloodlust look.

"You dare blame my sister for-"

"I do dare. She was the one who ran off with Rhaegar of her own will. Because of her, the two of them started a war an nearly destroyed one of the greatest Houses in the country." Howland told her everything that really happened. The days after the tourney of Harrenhal, the annulment, all but what happened at the Tower of Joy. That day was not his to share.

"Howland… damn him."

"If it weren't for her, you wouldn't have brought her son here and pretend to be a father to him!"

"Pretend?" Ned got to his feet and stood over her like he was the Mountain. "I loved him more than Rhaegar ever could have."

Catelyn stood up to Ned, looking at him dead in the eye. "Then why did you let him suffer so many years of my hatred?" Ned's anger disappeared and he faltered back a step. "You let me slander and ridicule him for something he never was. You let him suffer all those years, never giving him a second glance. Why didn't you tell me at the beginning?"

"I had no choice. What kind of woman welcomes her husband's bastard with open arms?"

"I would have if you just told me. I would have done everything I could to be the mother he never had if I knew!" She fell back on the bed. "I held him in my arms that night. He begged me for his mother before he died."

Ned knelt before her, his chest heaving. "It was wrong for me to mislead you. I wanted to tell you, so many times. But it, your contempt, even your hatred, sold the lie. If I had told you, you could not have been the way you were to him. I feared you would slip and someone would notice." He was in tears now, weeping as he said, "And it would have been only one slip that could have put all our lives in danger."

In her heart, she knew there was truth in those words. However, she answered, "I could have held to that secret. I would have made certain of it, to protect all of us."

Ned gave her a sad smile. "No, you would not have been able to. You love your children with the fierceness of a she-wolf. Had you known the truth about Jon, you would have shown him the same love you have for Robb or Sansa or Arya or Bran."

Catelyn lifted his chin up. A moment passed and the she pulled him to her. Her lips met his and felt nothing but a cold touch. His entire body was cold, cold as ice. He wouldn't say but he needed her now more than ever. Ned wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He found his strength again and pulled her to their bed.

Catelyn removed his night clothes as he did the same to her shift. The fabric fell away to the floor. It sent a shiver down her spine but when his lips touched her skin, there was a flare of warmth, something she had never felt in all their times since their first night together. She knew from his gentle touches he was feeling it too, so she put as much of herself in their joining as she could. And as her body reacted to Ned, so too did his body to her. Her warmth was bringing Ned out of his cold misery. It wasn't lust or passion that drove her, but love. Theirs was a slow dance of bodies, punctuated by soft kisses he rained down on her skin. She exalted in his touches, in the way his hands molded to her body, in even the tears that fell from his eyes and onto her. She realized she loved him more than she ever had and every part of her hoped that he would feel it, that it would ease his sorrow.

Tonight felt different than other other night they had spent together. There was a gentleness they had never had before. It felt like the first time they met, the first time they made love, man and maiden. Tonight was a chance to begin anew. Tonight was the night that they would be husband and wife to each other, not a lord and lady. Tonight was promise, a promise that things would be different now.

* * *

The Drunk

Pain, that was the only thing he felt when he awoke from his sleep. His head rung like a bell of the Great Sept and only after he realised he was sober did he almost cry out. He felt his brain stabbing from the inside of his skull and his ears were pulsing to the beat of his heart.

As the pain began to die down, though very little as it did, Thoros began to realize he was somewhere he did not know. It was dark and a little cold and damp. He sat up and felt his wineskin slip off his body. To his right he could see a dim light in the distance, shaping the location into a hallway. He groaned out as he got to his feet and picked up his wineskin from the ground. To his displeasure, the skin was empty.

Thoros began to make his way to the light and out of the darkness. It was only when he got there did he realize where he was and how much shit he was in. The light came from a great many candles, all of them halfway burned, surrounding a stone tomb. The tomb itself was deep into the hole made for it, leaving space for a stone mason to make a statue for the Stark inside. Carved on the stone lid of the tomb was the name Jon Stark.

In his drunken stupor, Thoros had fallen asleep in the crypts of Winterfell and on the night of the boy's funeral. He missed his chance to join the King to return to the capitol. Hopefully the horse he bought was untouched and ready for him to ride without a moment's notice. He just had to make sure that he left crypts unseen, or his might as well have shit in the heart tree in the godswood while Ned Stark polished his greatsword.

Sighing out, Thoros began to leave the crypts, but after only a couple of steps, he looked back at the stone tomb. Looking at it and the candle light made him remind himself of what he was, a drunken priest without a damn thing to give. He disrespected the House of the man who invited him, and the son who died taking a knife for the king.

Thoros returned to the tomb and placed his hand on the cold stone, the surface as smooth as a woman's skin almost. "Lord of Light," he spoke, "hear my words that you will. Guide this child into your light, into your embrace. He has suffered enough in this life, let him suffer no more in death. For the night is dark and full of terrors."

He took his hand off the tomb and kept his gaze on the name of the boy who rested inside. "I'm sorry you met such a fate, little one. Be free of this world's torment." Thoros turned to leave, but the flames of the candles flickered and grew abnormally large, no bigger than his index finger but still large. The cold of the crypts disappeared and suddenly became warm as if it were a summer's day.

All of the sudden, Thoros heard something, a rumble or pounding noise. It sounded distant, but it felt close. Then the tiniest of scrapes made Thoros shiver in this strange heat. He eyed the tomb and looked at it like it was something he had never seen before. Reaching his hand out slowly, Thoros went to touch the tomb again. The moment his fingers touched the stone, he felt a small vibration resonate from the tips to his entire body. The vibration was coming from inside.

Thros became terrified. He didn't know if he was going mad or dreaming. Regardless of which of the two it was, Thoros placed both hands on the sides of the covering and pushed with all his strength.

The moment a gap of shadow appeared, two small pale hands reached out of the tomb at Thoros. He pushed harder and once the gap was big enough, Jon Snow shot up from the tomb, coughing heavily and absolutely terrified.

Thoros lost all his breath. He was amazed and unbelieving of what he was witnessing. What kind of devilry was this? Magic? A trick? No, it had to be a dream. He had too much wine and this was just a sick dream. But no matter how much Thoros doubted things, he knew that this was real. In every inch of his soul he knew.

Jon Snow tried to climb out of the tomb, but almost fell out had Thoros not caught him. "Easy! Easy. take it easy young one." Jon Snow fell to his hands and tried to vomit, but he had nothing inside of him to cough up so it was just empty gags. Once his breathing slowed down, the boy lost all his strength and collapsed. Thoros took him in his arms and checked to see if he was alright. The boy was breathing and his eyes were shut. He had just fallen asleep, but he was alive. A boy who took a knife in the chest and the heart and had been dead for over half a fortnight was alive.

Thoros was unsure of how he was supposed to react, or what he was even supposed to do. He began to wonder if he did this with his prayer. He wasn't trying to bring him back to life, just give him a bit of peace in death. He had to take the boy to his father. He had to show him to everyone.

Before Thoros could get up, one of the candle flames turned into a crimson red, like blood. He looked at the flame, but something about it drew his gaze beyond the fire. He could see images, a vision. He saw the boy, Jon Snow, and a direwolf beside him. A lion and a stag then appeared together as if allies and both attacked the wolf. Jon Snow tried to run but great thorned roses erupted from the grown and bound his legs so he could not flee. The stag stabbed the direwolf with an antler before the tentacles of a kraken emerged and grabbed a hold of its body. The kraken tightly gripped the direwolf before tearing the beast in two. Jon Snow tried to crawl free of the vines, but a red sun began to shine and a golden spear was thrusted down into Jon Snow's arm. The gold of the spear began to melt, covering the boy's arm and continuing to his body, almost like it was infecting him. The lion and the stag both approached the boy viciously, but a lone trout had emerged from a river and attacked the two beasts. But on it's second jump, a falcon and a mockingjay flew down from the sky and grabbed the trout in their talons, bleeding the fish and killing it. With nothing left to protect the boy, the animals tore into his body and ripped him apart.

The crimson of the candlelight faded and the flame returned to its normal color. Thoros breathed silently, in shock of what he just witnessed. All the sigils of the great houses were at war over this boy, a bastard. There was something important about this bastard, so great that the country would go into a bloody chaos over him.

"He can't stay here." Thoros whispered. "And they can't know he's alive. But what do I do?" The candle had changed colors again, as if answering the question. Instead of red, the flame turned silver, almost pure white. Beyond the flame Thoros could see the world's horizon and the rising sun. He saw the light spill over a great body of water. An ocean, no, a sea. It was the Narrow Sea. "East… Essos." He removed his large red coat and wrapped it around Jon Snow, concealing his body. Before he could leave, Thoros had to make it seem like he was never here. He returned to the tomb and began to close the lid.

Hoisting the boy over his shoulder, Thoros left the crypts, both afraid of what he saw and what he was doing. As if the magic of this night was not yet over, absolutely no one was in sight to see Thoros when he came outside. The guards were not at their posts, or more likely it was the middle of a shift change. And to add to the luck of the night, the gates were left open.

Thoros went to the stables and found his horse, awake and waiting for him. He slung Jon Snow over the horse before mounting and riding out of Winterfell into the dead of snowing night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Before we begin, I need to give credit where it's due. MSquared79 has been fantastic help and last chapter and this one wouldn't have been half as good without her. Be sure to show her some love in your reviews!**

* * *

Robb

The morning came swiftly with a clear sunrise. Winterfell seemed to be more lively now that the funeral was over. Robb was still sad when he woke up, though he didn't feel as much as he was these past few days. But he still missed his brother.

He dressed himself and made for the Great Hall to break his fast with the rest of his family. Oddly though, mother and father were not there at the table, only Sansa, Arya, and Theon.

The food was what remained of last week's hunt, pork sausage with bread and honey. While everyone at the high table was quiet, the lords and other guests seated below were talking quietly among themselves. It was easy to hear them, but their voices mixed and words jumbled making it hard to listen to one person.

Robb would occasionally hear bits and pieces of conversation. Nothing seemed to interest him though. It was just talk of plans for the new summer, fathers thinking of husbands for their daughters or wives for their sons. Lord Alfred Welric was talking with Lord Ryon Dormund about marrying his daughter to him. Lord Ryon's father died in Robert's Rebellion at the Trident and his older brother, Eric, died fighting the Greyjoys. He was only fifteen and already a lord and was being offered a girl two years older than him for a wife.

But other times it was matters within a lord's own household. Lord Gregor Forrester was telling Lord Brian Woods about a great fight he had with his second born son before he departed Ironrath for the funeral. He caught the boy with the daughter of House Whitehill and the rivalry between the two houses was not a quiet thing. Lord Gregor had decided that his son would go take the black for his dishonor to his house to stop any further issues between the two.

Regardless of what the conversations were, Robb cared for none of it.

"Robb," Sansa said sitting next to him, "the jam please."

Robb lazily handed the jar of strawberry jam to Sansa. She was only eating a single slice of bread, but it was more than he was. He didn't even touch his food, he wasn't hungry. He felt like he would get sick if he ate.

Finally, Father and Mother arrived together. They took their seats and kept silent until their food was brought to them. Father was halfwalfway through his bread before finally noticing his children.

"You've hardly touched your food, Robb."

"I'm not hungry, Father."

"It's not wise to skip meals at your age." Eddard pushed his plate aside and faced Robb. "I know you're hurting son. We all are. It's a pain that someone your age shouldn't have to endure."

Father was probably already feeling better. He never was Jon's brother after all. And Jon was the only person in the castle his age he could play with. Without Jon, he felt he was alone in the castle now.

Father sighed and looked out to the people. "Robb, why haven't you introduce yourself to Lord Bolton's son?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Then what do you want right now?"

' _I want my brother back.'_ Robb scoffed, but got out of his seat. He didn't want to listen to his father anymore. He didn't understand how he felt. He knew his father had lost his siblings, but Uncle Brandon's temper led to him and Grandfather being killed by the Mad King and Aunt Lyanna was father's sister. It wasn't the same.

Robb had suddenly went from angry to afraid when the Bolton men looked over at him as he approached. They looked mean and hateful and almost like they were itching for a fight.

In the middle of them all was a boy, black of hair and pale eyes that made one shiver at the look of him. The stare he gave made Robb feel cold.

Robb straightened himself and tried to stand tall. "Are you the son of Lord Bolton?"

"Aye." The boy replied. "My name's Domeric."

"Robb Stark." he introduced.

"I know who are. Who else would be sitting with Ned Stark for breakfast?" Some of the Bolton men chuckled at that. "Did you want something?"

' _To go back to my room.'_ "Would you like a tour around the castle?"

Domeric just shrugged at him. "Why not? Beats being with my guard." Domeric slipped out of his seat and retrieved his cloak from one of his men.

Before they left, Robb turned back to the High Table. "Greyjoy!" he called out. "Come with us." Theon was hesitant, but he grabbed the rest of his sausage and rushed down to join them. "This is Domeric Bolton," Robb told Theon, "and this Theon Greyjoy, my father's ward." Robb was told to never refer to Theon as his father's hostage like some of the men would.

Robb, Theon, and Domeric left the Great Hall together to go outside for awhile. They all stood on the balcony bordering the training yard and watched Ser Rodrik train with Jory and twelve others. They all wielded training swords that were extra heavy so that they could build more muscle and swing faster with live steel.

"Lord Stark said he wants me to squire for Ser Rodrik when I turn ten," Theon said, "Says he thinks I might make a good one." He wasn't saying this to boast, just talk. Robb once thought about becoming a knight, but there wasn't much of point since he's the firstborn. He was learning how to be lord and wouldn't have time to do what knights did.

"My mother convinced my father to let me serve as a page for my Aunt Barbery next year. I've never been to the Barrowlands before but I'm excited to see Barrowton." Said Domeric.

The only things Robb knew about the barrowlands where the stories he and Jon were told before bed. "Old Nan once told me that there are crypts as big as Winterfell's in the Barrowlands, stretching for miles. Some of them belonged to Kings and Lords of old and others belonged to the soldiers of the dead and-"

"The dead?" Theon inquired, "What you mean by that?"

"He means the Long Night." Domeric told Theon. "Haven't you heard the legends about the White Walkers and their army of soldiers made from the very men that they killed?"

"I know it, just not all of it. My brother Rodrik told me that they were made of ice and took babes from their mothers' breast in the night without leaving a trace to track."

"Did he also tell you about the spiders?" Robb asked.

"Spiders? What spiders?"

"The White Walkers would ride ice spiders as big as horses for their mounts. The only one who didn't was the leader, the King of the Dead." A sudden cold breeze blew by forcing the boys to pull their cloaks around them for warmth. "The legends said that he rode the winds of winter and brought the greatest cold the world ever saw."

"Enough Stark," Theon said, "they're just stories told by the old people. Maybe it happened, maybe it didn't. I'll believe it when I see it."

Theon was right. All the legends of old these days were just stories told to frighten children. Old Nan admitted she tells them so they are not forgotten.

Robb wondered how many things in history were forgotten because they weren't told. Would Jon be forgotten if he just remained a name on a cold tomb?

"Hey," Domeric said, "what do you think they're doing?" he pointed down at a group of the crannogmen from the swamps walking together through the courtyard. They all seemed to ignore everything around them and had a certain presence that drew attention to them.

"Let's go follow 'em." Theon suggested. He didn't even wait for Robb or Domeric to say yes and was already dashing for the stairs.

Robb looked back at Domeric who just shrugged his shoulders and followed after Theon. They caught up with him and trailed the men. They continued to be curious about them as the men entered the godswood. Robb knew Father would usually go there after he's executed someone. He wondered why these men were going there.

The boys crept into the godswood as quiet as they could. They all saw the men of crannogmen sitting in sight of the heart tree's face. But there was something that frightened Robb about the men. Their eyes were all open, but the color of them was gone. There was nothing but white, like an abyss of cloud. They were as still as stone, ignoring everything around them.

"What's wrong them?" Theon asked.

"I'm not sure." said Robb. He'd never seen eyes like that before.

A small red bird flew past their heads and landed on a nearby branch. It looked directly at them before flying down to the shoulder of one of them men. As soon as it landed, the man gasped for air and his eyes returned to normal. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handful of seeds, letting the red bird feed from his hand. A ray of sunlight gleamed on the bird and its feathers reflected like fire.

"It's rude to watch from the shadows, you know," the man called out to them still giving his attention to his feathered friend.

Robb, Domerric, and Theon all looked at each other, shocked that the man knew they were there. They all revealed themselves to the man and slowly approached him.

The man didn't look angry with them for spying. In fact he looked amused. "I don't believe we've met formally, Robb Stark. My name is Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch."

Robb's mouth dropped in shock. He had never met him, but he knew of him. "You fought with my father against Ser Arthur Dayne."

Lord Reed had an odd look to it when he answered. "Aye, he and I were the only ones who lived. But it was your father that was the one who dealt the finishing blow." The red bird in Howland's hand began to chirp for more seeds. "You've had enough for breakfast," he told the bird, "anymore and you'll get fat." The bird flew off his shoulder into the trees.

"Never seen a bird like that." Domeric said. "What kind is it?"

"It's a Fire Cardinal. They're a rare species found only in the swamplands."

"Forget the bird," Theon said, "what's wrong with all of them?" He gestured to the rest of the crannogmen who were still white eyed.

"Don't mind them," Lord Reed told them, "they're somewhere else right now. Have you ever heard of skinchangers?"

Robb had. Old Nan told him and Jon stories about them, about men who could enter the minds of animals and sometimes even turn into them themselves.

"My brothers told me about them," Theon said, "Malon said that he met some wildlings who were skin changers. They set their animals on his crew when they were exploring up north. They're nothing but freaks."

"The gift may seem freakish to those who have little or no understanding of it. It is a terrifying thing to them to. We enter the minds of the animals and feel what they feel, sometimes forgetting who we are. But the wonders we receive are like nothing you've ever imagined. Have you wondered what it would be like to hunt as wolf in the thickest of forests? To fly as an eagle among the highest clouds or swim as a shark in the deepest of oceans?"

Robb couldn't begin to imagine how incredible it would be. "Well, that doesn't sound so bad," he replied, imagining himself as a grey direwolf.

"No," Howland told him, "but people fear and cast out what they do not understand. Such is how we are. But in the swamps, we welcome and nurture those with the gift."

"Gift?" Domeric asked. "Who gave it to you?"

"The Children of the Forest did, long ago when the Long Night was won by our ancestors. They taught us to hunt and live with our animals like never before, to remember our pasts and those of our fathers before us, and to even see what the future holds for our children. But such magics of the Old Gods have been fading ever since the Andals came. Skinchangers, wargs, greenseers, they are all becoming a scarce thing. Like the legends of old, we will soon be nothing but stories."

* * *

Eddard

Despite their reasons for being here, Eddard had decided to take advantage of this opportunity to meet with many of his lords. He gathered all of them together, along with Benjen in the Great Hall, seated at one large table.

"My lords," Eddard spoke up, gaining their attention, "today I would ask that we discuss the condition of the Wall and the men of the Night's Watch. My brother Benjen has brought word that there is something troubling happening beyond the Wall. Though I hold no love for the wildlings as much as the rest of you, there have been reports that villages have been mysteriously abandoned and not a trace of the people could be found or tracked."

"Maybe there's a dispute going on." said Lord Tallhart. "You can't get fifty of them together without a brawl breaking out."

"Not unless they're Thenns." Lord Welric said. "My uncle met a hundred of them on his final range. Maybe the Wildlings are starting to realize strength in numbers."

"Lord Alfred could be right." Medgar Ceryn agreed. "The lands beyond are just as large as Westeros for all we know. There could be millions of wildlings. How soon do you think it will take enough of them to gather and attack the garrisons at the Wall?"

"The Wall has stood for thousands of years and has repelled half a dozen Wildling Kings." Lord Wyman Manderly said dismissively. "It will continue to stand for just as many years and no army, no matter the number, is strong enough to bring down the Wall."

"Bring down, no." Eddard said, "but overwhelm? Maybe. I've had more reports of wildings south of the Wall these past few months than I've had in the last two years. They're getting bolder and harder to keep out. The Wall needs more men. I've already sent a raven to the lords not present with us and Lord Umber has sent what he can. But we owe the Umbers our share. They have been our first line of defense for as long as they've lived at the Last Hearth. It is their blood that is spilled and their people that die. My brother leaves on the morrow, and he will be returning with thirty of my men."

The other lords looked at each other, unsure whether or not to spare any of their own soldiers.

"House Welric has no soldiers to spare, Lord Stark" Alfred said, "but we found and arrested a group of poachers. We were going to send them to the Wolf's Den, but maybe they would be better as hunters for the Watch."

"I'll send word to my brother to gather any men in our dungeons as well as some volunteers." Lord Glover announced.

Their action made the other lords finally offer what they could. As of now, Benjen would have a guarantee of at least a hundred men and more on the way.

The rest of the time was spent discussing the plans for the coming spring. Each House was able to tell their concerns and each matter was resolved. By evening, their business was concluded and each had retired to their own activities.

This was the time Catelyn would normally be with Septa Mordane and the other young girls for their embroidery lessons right now. But when he went to the sept, he did not find her or Sansa there.

"My lord," Mordane greeted, "is there something I can do for you?"

"I'm looking for my wife, have you seen Lady Catelyn?"

"She hasn't been here at all today, my lord."

Little Jeyne Poole spoke up. "I think she's with Sansa in the godswood."

The godswood? Catelyn would very rarely go there and tried to keep Sansa in the sept instead. "Thank you, Beth."

The whole walk to the godswood, Eddard kept trying to understand why they would be there. Catelyn never felt comfortable in the presence of the weirwood and the first time Sansa saw the face dripping with the red sap she was afraid of it.

Eddard became absolutely surprised when he saw Sansa kneeling before the weirwood in prayer, but even more so that Catelyn kneeling beside her in silence. He waited patiently for them to finish and felt a spark of pride flicker in him seeing his daughter before the presence of the Old Gods.

Sansa said her last words and noticed Eddard when she stood up with Catelyn. "Father!" She rushed over to his side.

He caught her in an embrace. "Hello Sansa. I've never seen you pray to the weirwood before. I thought you were scared of them."

"I still am a little, but mother said that Jon could hear me if I prayed before them, so I wanted to try."

Eddard was shocked and looked over to Catelyn. She was such a devout follower to the Seven and wanted Sansa to be as well that such talk was unexpected.

Catelyn smiled at Eddard comfortingly. "Her gods are the gods of her mother _and_ her father. She should learn to respect and be faithful to both."

Eddard was surprised about Catelyn's flexibility to this. Devotion to two religions was a very rare thing in a mixed marriage such as theirs. And for Catelyn it just didn't make sense. He smiled down at Sansa. "I'm very proud of you, Sansa. Why don't you go to the kitchens and get yourself a sweet? I think there are lemon cakes cooling."

She beamed up at him. "Thank you, Father!" She gave him another fast hug before rushing off.

Once Sansa was out of hearing range, Eddard turned back to Catelyn. "What brought you to have her do this?"

"I've had some conversations with Lord Reed these past few days. He has provided much wisdom for me and ways that I might help. And he also told me about many of your beliefs I never knew, including the whispers the weirwoods say. I think Sansa, and Arya should know these as much as her brothers do." Catelyn took Eddard's hand. " _All_ of her brothers."

Eddard felt calm when he heard her say that. Even though she knew the truth, even though she never said it until now, he was glad that Catelyn would call Jon a brother of their children now. "Thank you, Cat."

For the first time, Eddard felt Catelyn was welcomed in the godswood.

* * *

Eddard felt a little abandoned later in the evening when his only company for supper was Arya and Catelyn. Sansa had gone to eat with her friends and Robb joined Theon and ate with Domeric. For the first time since that fateful night, Eddard got to see his children smiling again.

But the moment was short lived because Domeric had left and returned with a harp. Apparently, he was a Bolton who preferred the art of music instead of the art of battle. He pulled a chair to a corner and sat himself down. Others noticed him preparing and quieted down.

Domeric was only eight, and yet he played such a simple song that had a very serene feel to it. He played with focus, and yet Domeric kept his eyes closed the entire time, as if absorbing himself in the tune.

By the time he was done, Robb and Theon applauded for him along with the some of the Winterfell household, but Ned could see tears in Sansa's eyes starting to well up.

Eddard got up from his seat and went to tend to her. "Sansa, what's the matter?" He got to his knees so that she could look at him normally. "Do you have a stomach ache? Did someone say something mean to you?"

"Are you alright?" Eddard felt a cold shiver rush down his spine when he heard Domeric speak directly behind him. He never heard a single noise or felt anything that signaled his presence. "Apologies, my Lord, but I saw Lady Sansa and got concerned."

"I am alright," Sansa told both of them Then she turned her attention to Domeric. "Your song was so pretty, I could not help it."

Yet, as they spoke, Eddard felt a weight in him when she said that. It years ago that he was in this position with Lyanna as she became emotional after hearing Rhaegar Targaryen play his harp at the feast of Harrenhal.

"I'm sorry," Domeric told her, "the song was one my mother taught me. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"It's alright. It didn't make me sad, it made me feel happy, if that makes sense." She wiped her tears away. "I'm Sansa Stark."

Domeric smiled at her that made the cold features of his face turn warm. "Domeric Bolton."

* * *

Jon

The light all around had begun to blur in his vision as the floor reddened with his blood. The pain in his chest had finally faded away and the taste of blood in his mouth disappeared. The sounds he heard became muffled, but he could distinctly hear a woman screaming before all turned to a blackened dream.

Everything began to drift, like ocean waves on the shore. The world was the nothingness it was in the instances before falling asleep and waking up. There were no words to be said and no ideas to be thought. All was quiet like the shadows of the night, and still as the water of a pond.

And then there was music. Someone was singing, a man. There were no words to his song, only his humming voice and the instrument he played. The strings of a harp were plucked in a tune that was sad and calm. But there was a part of the song that gave hope.

Then there was a woman. She was sitting down in the nothingness, wearing a dress blue as winter roses. In fact the dress became winter roses that scattered about at the ends of it. Long black hair stretched down to her waist. She was facing away, hiding the rest of herself.

There was something about her, something familiar, something forgotten. This woman created a deep longing within Jon. He knew her, and she knew him.

"Mama?" Jon stepped closer to her. "Is that you?" He reached his hand out to touch her when he got close enough, but something stopped him. He felt a force pulling him away from her. No amount of strength mustered would pose any resistance to this power. Jon was pulled from her and taken out of the dream and into a light. "Mama!"

The light wrapped around Jon and blinded him with sudden flashes of things he could not understand. His body felt a great pain and a rush of heat flowed through him. His memory was a haze and his consciousness was gone from him. He felt himself move and hurt all over. He was scared, deeply so. And then, he was at rest.

Images like memories flashed before him, except these were things he did not know. Jon saw a great many things he could not comprehend. He saw someone who looked just like him, but years older, lying on a stone floor in strange robe like clothes, face bruised and bleeding greatly before dying. Whoever this person was, the resemblance was exactly the same, and yet Jon knew that it wasn't him.

Golden lions were littering a battlefield, at war with an army of winter roses and a great red dragon with wings of steel, the left valyrian and the right a metal black as night with cold silver coursing through it like veins of blood.

Jon finally awoke from his dream, gasping for air as the morning light blinded his vision. He covered his eyes as he sat himself up. He had been lying a patch of grass in a grove of trees. Over his body was a large red coat that stunk heavy of ale and wine. Regardless of the smell, the coat was warm and the air was cold.

There was a dying fire across from him. And on the opposite side of it, sitting against a tree was the red priest, Thoros of Myr. He was wide awake and staring directly at Jon.

"You're finally awake." He spoke softly. "You've been asleep for three days. And before that, you were dead for nine."

Memories began to flood Jon's mind. He was in his bed, and then a man with a knife attacked Lady Stark. He didn't want him to hurt Lady Stark or the girls, so he tried to stop him, and then… and then… the knife. The man stabbed him.

Jon looked down at his chest and slowly lifted his doublet up. Sure enough, there were two scars on his chest when he exposed it, unhealed but not bleeding. He ran his fingers to the one over his heart. The moment he touched it he jerked his hand away. The scar was real, the knife was real. He died.

Jon felt like he couldn't breath and was gasping heavily for air.

Thoros rushed over to him with a water skin and forced the mouth of it to Jon's lips. "Drink this, slowly."

Jon felt water flow down his throat and it was then he realized how thirsty he was. He felt like he could drink an entire river and not burst.

Thoros pulled the skin away from Jon once he had enough which was almost half of what was there. "I imagine you're hungry too. I got some rabbits almost done cooking." He corked the skin and set it aside.

Jon opened his mouth and moved his lips, but he could not hear any words come out. He tried to speak again but heard none of his words take form. He clasped at his neck, trying to feel if there was something wrong it it.

Thoros looked at puzzled. "What's the matter?"

Jon tried to shout and scream, but there was nothing. He couldn't speak or make a single sound. He started to frantically point at his neck, trying to tell Thoros his problem.

"You can't speak?"

Jon nodded.

Thoros pondered a moment before drawing out a dirk from his belt. Jon saw this and started to panic greatly. The man with the dagger that killed him flashed before his eyes. He tried to get up and run, but there was hardly any strength in his legs.

Thoros set the knife aside and grabbed hold of Jon. "Don't worry, I'm just going to prick your finger. Maybe feeling pain might spark you into some noise."

Jon began to calm down, breathing deeply and slowly. Hesitantly he held out his hand to Thoros and looked away. He felt a sharp sting and wanted to shout out, but there was nothing.

"Not a single sound." Thoros sheathed his dirk. "I'm sorry if I caused this. I didn't mean to rob you of your voice, or bring you back, truth be told."

' _Bring me back?'_ Jon thought. He looked at Thoros, confused as the red priest slumped back and gazed at the dying fire.

"All I did was say a prayer. Nothing glorious or sacred, just some words that weren't empty for once. I never imagined that you would come back to life, but here you are." He eyed Jon curiously. "You are a strange boy, Jon Snow- forgive me. Jon Stark."

' _Jon Stark?'_ Jon didn't know how to ask the priest why he called him Stark instead of Snow, but it seems that he could tell that Jon was confused.

"Yes, Stark. You are a Snow no more. Upon your death, Lady Catelyn asked the king to legitimize you. But, as far as your family and the rest of the world knows, you are still dead in that tomb of yours."

His family. Jon had completely forgotten about them. In fact it was only now that he began to wonder where he was and why.

Jon steadied himself with his arms as he tried to stand up. His legs felt tired like never before and he could barely find the strength in them.

Knowing he hadn't the strength, Jon leaned on the tree behind him for support and finally stood up for the first time since he died.

Looking around, all Jon could see were trees scattered about and patches of snow melting into the ground to nurture the coming spring. He knew for certain that he was still in the North, he just didn't know where. There were no signs of any roads, villages, castles, anything.

"If you're looking for Winterfell, we're far from it," Thoros told him. "We're half a days ride from White Harbor."

' _White Harbor?'_ Jon knew that was in the southern part of the North, the seat of House Manderly and one of the main ports of Westeros.

"I was going to take you to your father when you came back. But then … I saw a vision in candle flames around your tomb that something terrible would happen if I did. A war so great it might destroy more than Robert's Rebellion did. And at the center of it was you." Thoros pointed to him. "All the fighting was for you and I haven't the faintest clue as to why. There's something about you I cannot see, something the Lord of Light is hiding from me. And it needs to stay that way if you want to live again as well as the rest of your family, you understand?"

Jon did not understand. A war was just won and now another was going to happen because of him? What did he ever do? He was just a bastard. He once heard Lady Catelyn say that bastards are nothing but evil. Is that what he is? An evil that will destroy Westeros? He didn't want to be evil, he wanted to go home! But he didn't want his family to die because of him, either.

Jon fell down in his bed of grass and started to cry. ' _Maybe I should have stayed dead.'_ He felt a big hand start to pat him on his back.

"Come on, don't do that. It's better this way. I can't prove it, but I know it is."

Jon wiped his nose and nodded. If leaving was how he could save his family, then maybe he should.

"When we get to White Harbor, you'll be taking a ship to a city far from here called Volantis. Do you know where that is?"

Jon shook his head. He barely knew all of the Houses of the North and was just learning the Houses of the South in his studies.

"It's far to east of here on the continent of Essos. There lies the temple of the Lord of Light. I've sent word to them and they will take care of you."

' _Volantis? Lord of Light? A temple?'_ There was so much to take in. He'd never been out of Winterfell before, let alone the North. He had no idea what to expect from all of this.

"Rabbit's done. Eat it slow or you might choke." Thoros handed one of the rabbits to Jon. he immediately began to eat it once the smell of the meat filled his nose and made his stomach roar for anything at this point.

He wasn't sure how things would be now. Maybe this war Thoros talked about wasn't certain. Maybe he could come home soon if things changed. For now, Jon just wanted to to eat.

After an hour of riding, the horse had found a road and it wasn't long until a village came into sight. There was a small watchtower at the border and hanging down was a blue and white banner with two brown oars crossed at the center. It wasn't a major House's sigil as far as Jon could remember, but it was one of the Houses sworn to the Manderlys. Joana Holt's uncle had a small keep at the fork of the Whiteknife River called Whitetip, but their banner was different, three black pikes under a gray horizontal band on ice blue.

Jon waited on the horse while Thoros went to a market stall filled with freshly cooked bread and tarts. The town was bustling with people driving wagons, carrying barrels and boxes, probably full of things from all over the world. White Harbor was the center of trade for the North, even some from the Vale of Arryn and the Riverlands would travel to conduct their business. All the while he waited, he couldn't stop asking himself dozens of questions in his mind.

' _I wonder what the priest is buying? Is there a special name you call a priest like you call a knight Ser? Holy Thoros? I can't speak so I guess it doesn't matter. I wonder what this temple in Volantis is like. Do they all wear red like Thoros does…'_ his thoughts began to drift to what he saw after being stabbed. ' _I wonder if she really was mother, I wish I got to see her face. And who was singing… why did that man kill me? Why did I have to die? I don't want to die again.'_

Jon felt himself growing terrified of the things that happened and was on the verges of tears. He died and was probably the only person that didn't stay dead.

Thoros had finally returned and held an apple tart to Jon. "Here, this should fill your belly." When Jon took the tart, Thoros handed two small leather pouches to him. "Can you read and write?"

Jon nodded.

"There's some parchments and sticks of charcoal. You can use them to talk to me and anyone else."

Thoros mounted onto the horse as Jon started to eat his tart. Normally he would love the taste of sugary things, but it all just felt bland in his mouth and he had no feelings for excitement or joy, just fear and sadness.

"That reminds me. I know you're a Stark now, but you can't let anyone know who you are. Choose a new name for yourself before we get to White Harbor."

Jon quickly took out one of the papers and a charcoal before the horse got moving and wrote down ' _Why?'_

"For one thing I can't have people know that I grave robbed you, not that anyone would believe it anyway. But if the world knew that a child was resurrected after death, they would tear you apart to know how and why."

Jon wished he never asked now. All of this was just too much for him to comprehend. ' _I'm just a bastard, why did is this all happening to me?'_ He failed to control himself and started to cry heavily, but his whimpers were silent.

"Hey, come on now, don't do that." The pouch of charcoal accidentally slipped from Jon's fingers and fell to the ground, scattering the pieces. Thoros pulled on the reigns and dismounted to pick up the pieces. When he finished, he handed it back to Jon. He wasn't angry or upset, he tried to be understanding. "I know you're scared, and you have every right to be. I've never heard of any tale or legend about men or women being brought back to life. But listen to me now. You are a Stark now, a Stark of Winterfell, descended from the Kings of Winter and First Men. You are a direwolf, and a direwolf must be brave in times like these, alright?"

Jon wrote down on his paper again, the writing sloppy but eligible. ' _How can I be brave when I'm so scared?'_

Thoros smiled at him. "The only time we can be brave is when we're scared. It's when we find the strength to fight our fears do we discover our courage. So do you think you can try to look for it?"

Jon wiped his tears away and nodded. He had remembered when his father told him and Robb that before he went off to fight the Greyjoys but he didn't explain it as much as Thoros did. ' _I'm a Stark, a direwolf. I need to be brave.'_ He wrote on the parchment and showed it to Thoros. ' _My name is Ned Snow.'_

Thoros remounted the horse and resumed riding to White Harbor.

"Before we get there, I need to ask you some things. If you're not ready, that's fine, but I need to know before the ship leaves."

' _Better now than never.'_ He pressed one of the parchments to his leg for a surface and wrote. ' _Ask now.'_

"When you died, where did you go? What did you see?"

Jon wished he could tell, but he didn't know how. He wrote on the back of his parchment. ' _I don't know the words. There was a man singing and playing a harp. I couldn't see him but I saw a woman in a dress that turned into winter roses._ _I think she.'_ Jon crossed out the last bit. He wasn't sure if it would matter. He gave the parchment to Thoros.

Thoros kept silent for a long while. "What's this bit you crossed out? What did you think about this woman?"

Jon took the parchment back and used what spaced remained. ' _I think she was my mother.'_

"Oh, I see. Did Lord Stark ever tell you about your mother?"

Jon shook his head. No matter how much Jon asked, his father would never tell him anything about her. Even in death, Jon couldn't get the chance to meet her, or even see her face. The only thing he saw of her was her long black hair. Now he knew for certain where he got his from. ' _I have her hair.'_

"The man singing, did you recognize his voice?"

' _It was actually more of a humming.'_ Jon shook his head.

The rest of the journey was a calm ride. They passed forty nine carts coming from the city, Jon having nothing else to do counted them. The sun was just above the treeline when they reached the walls of the city. Jon never saw a gate so big before, he had never been anywhere but Winterfell.

When they entered, there were more buildings than Jon could count. He imagined a city to be maybe twice as big as Winter Town, but White Harbor must have had hundreds. Towering above the buildings on a hill was a pale castle. Streaming down its walls were the banners of House Manderly. At the other end of the city was another castle, but the look was different, old and ancient. It had to be the Wolf's Den, once a castle belonging to the Greystarks before they were wiped out, now a prison filled with pirates and sea raiders and other criminals.

The city smelled nothing like the rest of the North. In Winterfell the winds would carry the scents of the earth and the trees, but here there was something new, the smell of the ocean.

Making their way to the harbor, the main street was present with many different shops and taverns. One building in particular had a woman standing at the entrance who recognized Thoros.

"If it isn't the Red Priest, Thoros of Myr." Her words were strange and playful and she was very pretty. She wore a dress that showed the crack between her breasts openly. "Come to have another taste of a mermaid?"

Thoros chuckled at her. "Unfortunately, today is the unluckiest for me that I must decline. But I will savor your flavor sometime in the future, love."

"And who's the child you have with you? A young devotee to your god?"

"An accident to be taken care of." Jon wasn't sure if he meant something else other than accidentally resurrecting him.

The woman waved goodbye before entering the building she was by. It was then that Jon could hear faint sounds of what he thought where laughs and giggles of many women.

They went straight for the harbor, not stopping for any meals on the way. Jon was still hungry, and thirsty more so. He took out a new parchment and wrote down. ' _Will we get food and water before we get to the ship?'_

"If it hasn't left yet, then you can get it from there. If it has, then we'll have to stay here until the next one arrives."

The harbor was now in sight. Jon never seen so many ships before, or any real ones for that matter. He and Robb would play with toy ships but they were nothing compared to the real galleys and warships.

There were more than a dozen ships docked and a few leaving and less entering the harbor. Even though it was evening, there were many people scattered about. Fishermen bringing in their haul, sailors disembarking, and cargo being unloaded. The docks were always busy.

Thoros dismounted and left Jon on the horse while he went to speak with some men who were probably sailors. After a short time, he returned looking pleased.

"We made it just in time. The ship for Volantis is leaving tonight. You'll be stopping at Tyrosh first for two days. Do not leave the ship then, do you understand?"

Jon nodded.

"Good. After that, the ship will go straight to Volantis and there will be some priests like me waiting for you. I've arranged for you to have a cabin and decent food. Your deserve that much at least."

Jon wrote more on his parchment. ' _What about you? Where are you sleeping?'_

Thoros looked grim. "I'm sorry, but I won't be coming with you."

Jon suddenly became worried.

"I need answers to what's going on, to why I was able to bring you back. There's someone on Dragonstone who might have them. I need to see her first, and then I will travel after you, I promise."

Jon was scared about traveling alone, but he remembered Thoros' words to him. ' _I am direwolf, and a direwolf must be brave.'_ He nodded and Thoros picked him off the horse.

"Do you think you can walk?" He carefully set Jon on his feet and slowly took his support away.

Jon stood on his own and took a step forward. It felt a bit tiresome at first, but he managed to pulled some strength together.

"Probably couldn't walk cause you were starving." Thoros chuckled. He led Jon to the ship and walked him to the deck. He knelt down and looked him straight in the eyes. "I promise you, we will learn why it was you came back." He rustled Jon's hair and took his leave from the ship.

By the time the sun was starting to disappear behind the horizon, the ship had made sail and White Harbor grew small in the distance.

Jon rested his arms on the railing and watched as his homeland grew far away, not knowing when he would come back, or if he would come back at all.

One of the sailors found him gazing off. "Boy, your dinner's in your cabin. Follow me." He was a great big man, but not as big as Hodor.

Jon followed the sailor below deck into one of the rooms. Jon was surprised to see another boy inside, but then he realised that he was sharing the cabin with him. He looked older than Jon by a few years and had auburn brown hair. He was sitting at a table with a bowl of soup in front of him and a spoonful in his mouth.

"This ere's your cabin mate… forgot what 'is name was."

The boy swallowed his food. "Asher, my name's Asher."

"Right. Food's on the table, and breakfast is at first light." The sailor took his leave from the two of them.

Asher wiped his mouth clean with his sleeve and got up to greet Jon. "They call this food, but it tastes like saw dust and mud. But the potatoes are alright. So what's your name?"

Asher looked at Jon awkwardly when he went to the table and starting writing on a new parchment. ' _Ned Snow.'_

"Ned, huh? What's wrong with you? Lannister got your tongue?"

Jon felt a little hurt by Asher's tease. He was still trying to get used to his state of silence. Not being able to speak felt instinctively wrong. He wrote down again. ' _I can't speak.'_

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to… sorry." Asher cocked his head to the beds. "The one on the left is yours." leaning against the right bed was rucksack and belt with a sword and an axe sheathed on it. The sword was the size meant for a grown man, too long for Asher to use it normally and the axe had a picture carved in the metal. A lone tree with a sword in the middle, the sigil of House Forrester.

Jon wrote down on his parchment and showed it to Asher. ' _Are you from Ironrath?'_

"Born and raised. My full name is Asher Forrester, second born of Lord Gregor Forrester."

Jon became wide eyed and quickly wrote more. ' _What are you doing here?'_

Asher had a small smile when he took his seat and resumed eating. "What my father wants, leaving home to never return. Apparently it's dishonorable to fall in love with the daughter of your father's enemy. But I won't freeze my arse at the Wall for the rest of my life just to redeem _his_ honor." Asher brought the entire bowl to his lips and drank the rest of the soup down. "Ugh, nasty, but food is food." He set the bowl down and eyed Jon's soup. "You gonna eat that?"

Jon nodded when he remembered how hungry he was. He took a seat and his first spoonful of the soup tasted awful, but he was too hungry to care. He wished he saved some of his apple tart from today for the trip.

"So Ned, I told you my purpose for being here, what's yours?"

Jon didn't know yet. All he knew was what Thoros had told him which wasn't much, just that he would start a war if he stayed, but all he answered was, ' _I don't know yet.'_


	9. Chapter 9

Robert

Releasing a great war cry, Robert threw his shield aside and gripped his hammer in both hands. He swung with all his strength and the might of the hammer broke the blade of Rhaegar's sword and landed square onto the dragon of rubies of Rhaegar's breastplate. The rubies broke off and scattered into the air like glistening red stars before falling into the river.

Rhaegar coughed up a great amount of blood when he fell back and sank into the water. His lips moved, muttering a soundless word under the water before the light of life left his eyes.

"That was for the love you stole from me," Robert spat. His armor and hammer dissolved into nothing as did the Trident, Rhaegar, and all of the soldiers battling around them. He was now naked in the darkness, alone and cold.

But then she appeared, in the dress she wore the last Robert saw her, wearing the crown of roses Rhaegar dared to give her. She was as beautiful as the day he last saw her.

"Lyanna." Robert walked towards her with his arms out. "I've done it, I killed the monster who took you from me."

A sudden growl from behind stopped Robert in his tracks. He thought it was a lion, but when he turned around he saw a large dragon made of cracked rubies baring its teeth at him.

"Lyanna, run!" Robert called out. But when he turned back to face her, she was glaring knives at him. Her body began to twitch and bend and she began to transform into a large brown dire wolf. She snarled and bared teeth as big as daggers. The air was heavy with the intent to kill. She meant to fight the dragon. "No! You can't fight him!" But it was after those words he realized that it was not the dragon she was preparing to kill, it was him.

Lyanna barked out as she lunged at him and began to rip him apart. Every bite that sank into his body, Robert felt her rage and a hatred like none he had ever known. He was going to scream out his pain, but his throat was torn out of his neck and his voice gone from him.

Robert awoke from his nightmare, screaming out. The whores next to him were startled and fell off the bed. They scurried away from the bed as Robert collected himself and Ser Barristan entered the room.

"Your Grace! Is everything alright?" His sword was drawn halfway out of his scabbard.

Robert was silent. He could still feel the pain of the bites, the anger of Lyanna. He just didn't understand why it was all directed at him. It all felt real. He got out of the bed and rushed over to a chest containing his things. He opened it and sifted through his clothes to the bottom where a smaller chest was hidden. He opened it, but it was empty. He used the last of the tonic Littlefinger supplied him with.

' _A word of caution. The effects will hold back your anger, but once they wear off, all of it will come rushing out, like a breaking dam unleashing its reservoir. And like the lands, your mind will be forever changed.'_

"Out," Robert grumbled.

"Your Gra-"

"Out, all of you!" The whores retrieved their gowns from the floor and ran out nearly screaming, but Ser Barristan remained. "That includes you Selmy, get out!"

Ser Barristan sheathed his sword and made for the door.

"No, wait. Send for more wine… and my hammer."

Ser Barristan turned back to him, confused. "Your hammer, your grace?"

"Yes, my hammer. Did you not hear? Is your age finally catching up to you?"

Ser Barristan promptly left and the wine was brought faster than the hammer. Robert's hammer, no other weapon could match its power and strength and no other man except for Ser Gregor Clegane had the strength to wield its weight. It took three men to bring it to Robert's room.

Robert drank as much wine as he could before feeling his stomach fill, and yet he did not feel his thirst quenched. He did not feel the euphoria that tended to go along with his normal drinking, nor did he even feel his head swimming as the world around him spun.

No matter how much he took, it did nothing. The pleasure of the whores had faded from memory and he had no drive for their company again. He felt trickles of anger inside of him. He threw the goblet of wine at the wall, the glass shattering into almost nothing.

His nightmare would not stop haunting him. It was like a damn weed that could not be pulled or a biting tick that he couldn't be rid of. Lyanna's hate of him would not leave. It was too real and he didn't know why. ' _Why did you let him take you? Why did you carry his spawn? Why didn't you rid yourself of that wretched dragonspawn?'_

He took hold of his hammer and started swing at anything he could. He went to war with the furniture, destroying anything and everything that got in the hammer's path.

His emotions were overtaken with unbridled rage. He wanted blood, more than anything now. ' _Damn you, Rhaegar Targaryen!'_ He wanted Rhaegar to come back alive so he could kill him again. ' _Damn you, Eddard Stark!'_ He wanted Ned's head mounted on a spike on the walls of his castle for his betrayal. But, most of all, he wanted to go to Lyanna when she fell pregnant with Rhaegar's bastard. He wanted to ask her why she didn't even try to kill the babe while she could. The babe that killed her instead. How could she rather have birthed a dragonspawn bastard than live to be with him? Were her legs that easy to pry open? Did she even try to close them? ' _DAMN YOU, LYANNA! DAMN YOU ALL TO THE SEVEN HELLS!''_

Robert roared out as his attacked his bed. The feather cushions were torn to pieces and the oak bed frame smashed and splintered. The stone floor received a few blows and was cracked deeply.

The destruction of his bedroom only lasted for a few minutes. Robert's rage had begun to die down as he concluded venting it out. He let slip his hammer from his fingers and nearly fell as he sat down amidst the broken things.

Ser Barristan re-entered with Ser Jaime and four other men including Lord Hayford.

"You're grace," Ser Barristan spoke in shock, "what in the name of the seven is the matter?"

Robert gave him a scowl. "Is it morning yet?" He his voice was dry and parched even though he had drunk so much wine.

"It is." Ser Barristan replied.

Robert groaned as he got back to his feet. "We're leaving, now." He gave Lord Hayford a look. "Send a raven of the cost of damages and you'll be given what's owed."

Lord Hayford, that feeble old man, just shriveled back in fear. "Y-yes your grace."

As quick as they arrived at the castle Hayford the previous evening the royal party was gone as the sun was just beginning to climb into the afternoon. They rode hard on the Kingsroad for hours until finally, the familiar smell of the city was present and King's Landing came into sight.

Once the Gold Cloaks at the gates saw the King's Banners, they announced the arrival and opened the way into the city.

People began to crowd the streets to see their victorious king like rats. Many of them began to cheer out for him.

"Hail, King Robert, slayer of the Krakens!"

"Hail the King, conqueror of the Iron Islands!"

He had been looking forward to this moment for months now. The people praising their King for his victory. But all of it seemed so meaningless now. All their words were empty that most would get drunk from such glory.

He ignored all of the people all the way to the Red Keep. By then, he was in the castle courtyard. His wife and children were there waiting for him as was Jon. He didn't give any of them a second glance except for the one person he was looking forward to seeing. Standing with his imp of a son by Cersei was Tywin Lannister.

"Welcome back, your grace," Jon greeted, stepping forward from his wife, Lysa, "it is wonderful to see you unharmed from the war. We were all worried when we received the news of the attack at Winterfell."

Robert dismounted his destrier. "There was nothing _to_ worry about. Any man that gets killed by a nine-year boy with a table knife can hardly call himself an assassin." A few of those gathered shared a laugh.

"Indeed, but… Ned's bastard."

Robert flinched at the mention of the bastard. "Yes, yes it was tragic about your namesake's death. But I gave him his just rewards. He's been buried a Stark."

"Father!" Joffrey shoved passed Jon to get to Robert. "How many Ironborn did you kill? Did you crush any of the Greyjoys with your hammer?"

Robert chuckled at him. "All in good time. But I have some important duties I must attend first."

"Duties?" Jon asked. "You've only just arrived."

"And the sooner I take care of them the sooner I can return to drinking. Gather some of the guards and post them outside the small council chamber."

Jon was obviously surprised at that. Robert had only been to one small council meeting after all. "Y-yes. I'll inform the other members-"

"This isn't a small council meeting. This is between me and the Lord of Casterly Rock and no one is to disturb us. Am I clear?" There were a few whispers and murmurs among those gathered. He looked directly at Lord Tywin as he said that who did nothing except raise his eyebrow.

But the Hand of the King didn't seem to notice that. "As you command, your grace."

He and Lord Tywin proceeded to the chamber in silence, but he could tell the old man was trying to decipher why he was being brought there. When they arrived, the council room was sealed from all ears and guards were posted outside the doors and ordered to detain any suspicious characters lingering around.

Robert was pleased to see Petyr Baelish already by his seat as Tywin Lannister took his, though their moods were complete opposites. Littlefinger was pleased to be here but Tywin was an angry old man as always.

"Your grace," They both greeted with a subtle bow of the head.

"Spare me your damn courtesies," Robert said. "We have much to discuss. I'm surprised you got in without much trouble, Baelish."

"Some of the guards visit my establishments frequently, and they'd rather keep that knowledge from their wives."

"I don't care how, all I care is that no one will hear of what happens in this room."

"I have seen to that as well. No little birds or spiders shall hear the whispers we speak.

"So it seems," Tywin said, "but before we do I will know why I was abruptly summoned from home without any reason or the slightest notice."

"I was the one who sent the raven, my Lord Tywin," Petyr admitted. "Now that you are here, you should know that the information we have it of the greatest secrecy, too much so to be sent by a raven or any fowl or beast of the earth."

"Then speak it now, or I will take my leave. I have many duties to my House and my home being delayed because of you and I will not have my time wasted." Tywin took his seat before Robert and Petyr did. He never did fail to intimidate. Every moment the Golden Lion of Casterly Rock spoke, his words gave worry of war even of the slightest of things.

Robert leaned his elbows on the table and folded his hands together. "You were summoned to help us prepare for a war against a family of traitors."

"War," Tywin confirmed, "seems rather dull to start one just after winning one."

"This war will not happen so soon as you may think, my lord," Petyr told him. "Not now, but when the pieces are in place perfectly and game set in our favor."

"And who are these traitors that you speak of?"

"The Starks of Winterfell," Robert said. For the first time of ever knowing Tywin Lannister, Robert witnessed the look of surprise on the man's face.

Tywin regained his composure as soon as he lost it. "And why would you fight against a man you consider a brother?"

"Ned Stark is no longer a brother of mine. No brother of mine would harbor a Targaryen in secret from me."

Tywin looked at Robert dead in the eyes as if Robert told a terrible joke. "A Targaryen? I know the remaining children of the Mad King are across the Narrow Sea and Aemon Targaryen is rotting away at the Wall. What Targaryen do you speak of?"

"Allow me to explain, my lord." Petyr injected. "A few months before the end of the rebellion, I traveled to Winterfell in search of some women to expand the variety of my business, for they tend to last much longer than others. But while there, I spoke with the Lady Catelyn Stark."

"I've heard that you grew up with the Lady Stark when she was a Tully," Tywin said. "I've also heard you have a close relationship with her sister, Lysa."

Littlefinger smirked. "I indeed grew up with them and much affection for Lady Stark, and her sister. And I will admit, I held out a hope that Lord Tully would see my suit of his elder daughter favorable, but, alas, it did not happen. But that is beside the point, my Lord. While I was there, she let slip a bit of information about Ned Stark's bastard boy that led me to believe he was not his bastard as he told the world, but a bastard of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. He went on to explain, in detail, all that had been said by Catelyn. "The timing of the boy's birth and the location was just far too coincidental, for one thing. But my suspicions were only that, suspicions. The King was the one to confirm them."

Both sets of eyes were on Robert now. "The bastard was Rhaegar's with his mother's colors. I never would have seen it if you didn't tell me, Lord Baelish. Well done with the assassin, by the way. I'm not sure how he knew which room was the bastard's, but well done. I'll never forget your services to me."

"You honor me, your grace. And the assassin was a simple matter, I gave him the dagger and told him to kill the King and I had a young woman as an informant in Winter Town tell him where the King's room was. Conveniently, he was told incorrectly."

"I see to it that you're compensated for your lost dagger. Valyrian steel is hard to come by."

"There will be no need. The dagger is part of a nice trail that will lead the Starks to Dorne."

"What about this informant?" Tywin asked. "How do you know she won't lead the trail back to you?"

Littlefinger gave a sly smirk. "You have nothing to worry about, my lord. I have made the arrangements for that to be taken care of."

"Hm…" Tywin turned his attention back to Robert. "And now that this bastard of Rhaegar is dead, what do you plan to do now, your grace?"

"I swear to the gods, Old and New and every fucking god there is that I will have war against Eddard of House Stark. I will have the revenge I demand for his treachory!" Robert slammed his fists on the table, causing Littlefinger to flinch back. "Baelish, you happen to have any more of that potion, do you?"

"Alas, what I gave was all I could get from my contact at the Citadel with the Bottled Pox."

"Bottled Pox?" Tywin inquired.

"I know of a maester at the Citadel who does some unethical practices that provide incredible results, such as ways to bottle sickness and disease, either to study or inflict on others. He keeps his work a secret and so do I as long as he provides assistance when I ask for it."

Robert grumbled at that. Aside from suppressing the anger within him, he had also gotten a feeling of bliss from the potion he drank.

"I think what may help for now is a celebration. A war has been won after all, and a feast in Winterfell is such a little of a thing compared to festivities of the southern kingdoms."

"Perhaps a tourney," Tywin suggested. "Lannisport has just finished recovering from the reaving and plundering of the Ironborn. A celebration of sorts would be of benefit for those who lost much in the war."

"Yes, a tourney for the victory," said Robert. "That's what I need right now."

"I'll have a raven sent to my brother to make the arrangements."

"Most gracious of you to do so, Lord Tywin," Littlefinger said. "And afterward, we can begin the work to bring down the North."

"And how exactly does a flesh peddler plan on conquering it?" Lord Tywin asked. "The North is the largest of all the kingdoms. They are strong people and when winter comes, not even an army ten times the size of theirs can defeat them. Only fools think of them as barbarians."

There was an unexpected knock on the doors to the council room. Robert leaped to his feet. "I ordered us not to be disturbed!"

Baelish rose to his feet smoothly. "Apologies, your Grace, but I took the liberty of inviting another to join us and...discuss the future. It occurred to me that if we are to truly achieve a victory in the North, we'll need some allies who are from the North. And I found someone who has taken issue in the past with the way the Stark's have governed the North. His House has a wonderful history with them. I believe he will be most helpful in continuing our endeavor." Baelish opened the door and in walked a strange man. He wore clothes from the North and had pale eyes that almost seemed cold. "Allow me to introduce Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort."

* * *

Cersei

"I know have a vial somewhere, your grace," Pycelle said as he searched through his study, glancing over bottles of potions and poisons. "Ah, here we are, The Maiden's Blessing." Pycelle retrieved a bottle from his shelves and poured the contents into a small vial for Cersei. "Add a few drops of this with some water an hour before you act, and your womb shall be more fertile to conceive."

"Thank, grand maester." Cersei smiled slyly at him. Though he was a man that often annoyed and disgusted her, he at least had his uses. "Just remember to keep quiet about this. I wish to surprise my husband should the potion work."

"Of course, your grace. Such a wonderful thing of you to work for another child of royal blood. I am most assured that the king will be pleased when it happens."

Cersei took her vial and left. She had been in a heat of sorts ever since the raven from Pyke arrived announcing the end of the rebellion. She couldn't wait to be back in his arms, to feel him inside her. She missed Jaime every day he was gone from her.

The evening was almost here and Robert would most likely be heading off to some gutter rat tavern and then a brothel. She cared not for it anymore, as long as it got him away and Jaime closer.

Cersei retreated from Pycelle's study and made for her room. She couldn't help but smirk while she walked. She had been wanting another child for the past year now. Another babe with golden hair. She hoped that this one would be another girl, like Myrcella. She wanted to give her beautiful daughter a sister that she would grow up with, just as sweet as her.

Though if she had a boy, she would be just as pleased. Another prince that could be the heir father so greatly wanted. Jaime had refused to give up his white cloak, and Tyrion, the little monster, lost his claim the day he killed her mother. She tried to not let her thoughts be clouded with things that would anger her. Tonight was going to be wonderful for her and Jaime.

But while climbing the steps to her room, one of her father's servants found her. "Your grace," he said, "Lord Tywin is waiting for you in the small council chamber."

Father? What did he want? Though the timing was annoying, it was no inconvenience for Cersei. "Did he say why?"

"No, your grace."

Cersei would have been surprised if father had said why since he hardly ever did.

Knowing that it wasn't wise to keep Tywin Lannister waiting, Cersei followed the servant all the way to the throne room.

"He awaits you in the small council chambers." The servant bowed before taking his leave.

Cersei strode into the small council room and saw only her father seated at the table writing out a document among a few. He gestured to an empty chair adjacent to him. "Sit down." He kept at his work and didn't even look up at her when she sat down. In fact, he kept writing on his paper, the only noise being made at all was the scratching of the quill. This dragged on for longer than it should have.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about or did you just want me here as a piece of furniture to help liven the room?"

Father finished the line he was on and set his quill in his inkwell. "I wanted to have a talk with my daughter, but if you see yourself as something as low as furniture then would you like me to address you as such?" He always had a way of turning one's own words against them.

"I am the Queen and I have more important things to do than watch my father at work."

"If you'd rather me interrupt you during one of these many important things than wait for me to finish then take your leave. But be prepared to turn around as soon as you do." Father took the quill back in hand and resumed writing. He was always free to let others wait for him but never wait for others.

Cersei sat in a frustrated silence as she waited. But luckily it wasn't for much longer because Tywin quickly finished his writing and dripped some wax near his signature and stamped the Lannister Lion onto the document, making it official.

"Now then, we have a matter to discuss. After meeting with your husband, the king, he has decided that should Jon Arryn pass these coming years, he will be naming me Hand of the King."

This made Cersei brighten up. Finally, Robert was doing something right for once, and yet, she couldn't understand why he would. "That's wonderful news. How on earth did you convince him?"

"I didn't. Someone else did and I plan to generously pay that debt. But who did is not of your concern. Though Jon Arryn lives, I have been tasked by Robert to strengthen the crown's hold over the realm. This will also give us the chance to strengthen our hold as well."

"Our hold? There are more than half a dozen branches of our House and those are the only ones worth mentioning. Does Uncle Gerion plan to marry then?"

"No, the fool is still planning that expedition of his. Though there is a part of me that wishes him to succeed, it is outweighed by the part that wants him to come to his senses." Tywin stood up from his seat and paced over to one of the windows, gazing to the outside. "Our name can be found in five of the nine realms. The other four either want nothing to do with us and the Iron Islands are a place I would not sully our name." He turned back to face her. "You, however, possess the greatest answer to our greatest challenge. You have two children of royal blood and though Joffrey will inherit the crown, Myrcella will not."

Cersei felt a great cold rush over her. "You plan to sell my little girl?"

"No, I plan to wed her to a great lord's heir and for her to give him children of Lannister blood."

"No!" Cersei balled her fist. "I will not let you sell my baby girl like some broodmare as you did me! Myrcella is my daughter, not yours!"

"You sound as if we plan to wed her on the morrow to Walder Frey." He spoke firmly.

"We?"

"Robert was the one to suggest the marriage. When Myrcella has her first moonblood, she will wed Ned Stark's heir and become Lady of Winterfell. That gives her plenty of years to grow and be with her mother."

"You would send her to live in a cold wasteland with a barbaric husband!?"

Tywin scowled at her. "The North is one of the greatest of all the realms and it is the largest. The Starks are the oldest family in the realm. But their name will be fading from this world soon." Tywin walked back to the table to Cersei, but there was something about the way that he said that felt off. Before she could query him further he continued. "Things have already been set in motion and if our family is to stride through them then acquiring the North is paramount."

Cersei was still fuming at whatever the plan Robert and her father had cooked up. "I will not see my daughter shipped off to that wasteland." She got out of her seat and made for the door, but Tywin spoke out to her before she reached it.

"Myrcella will be wed to the Stark boy one way or another. Either you tell her of this or Tyrion shall."

Cersei froze in her steps.

"I know how fond he is of her and she of him. I'm sure he would love to tell her about becoming a wife to a powerful heir."

Cersei did not reply, but her fists tightened.

"You have until tomorrow evening to tell her the news."

It was a while later when Cersei took to her room, almost broken-hearted at the thought that her only daughter would become a piece in her father's game for control of the country. But the more she thought about it, the more she couldn't help but be glad that it was the Stark's she would be going to. Cersei knew enough about them. They are the most honorable of all Houses, they would never mistreat Myrcella.

She tried thinking of where she would have Myrcella be sent to instead. Maybe she could marry a Lannister cousin as father did, but all of them were not worthy of her. Dorne was out of the question. She would be dead the moment she took her first step.

In the end, the North was the best place Myrcella could be sent to, but Cersei couldn't accept that, she wouldn't. Myrcella belonged with her.

Her thoughts became interrupted when there was a knock on her door.

When she opened it, she was utterly glad to see Jaime standing there, but he did not look happy to see her.

"I have been sent by the king to retrieve you to his chambers," he told her.

Her joy faded. Nothing about today had gone how she wanted. Luckily she had been too caught up in her thoughts that she forgot to take the Maiden's Blessing and she had a private stash of moon tea for these rare occasions.

But maybe this was the chance she needed to convince Robert about giving Myrcella to the Starks. Her best weapon was between her legs after all.

She took a deep breath before walking with Jaime to the King's solar. Before they reached the door, she quietly spoke to him. "I have been dreaming that I would have another child Jaime. I hope that could soon be a reality."

He whispered back to her. "I'll see that it will, your grace."

Cersei entered the room and closed the door behind her. She saw Robert outside on the balcony overlooking the city. In the corner of the room was a small puddle of wine and a smashed goblet near it.

She joined him on the balcony. "Was the wine not to your tasting, my husband?"

He shook his head. "None of it has as of late. And I can't get drunk either. The gods are worshipped shits that are toying with me."

Cersei smirked behind his back. ' _If only they did that more often.'_ She turned around and made for the bed, undoing her robe and nightgown and letting them fall to the floor. ' _The sooner we get this over with, the better.'_ "Come to the bed, my love. Let me ease your frustration." He turned to see her naked at the foot of the bed. She looked at him seductively like no filthy whore could. All would be what she needed to play him long enough and get what she desired.

Robert pulled off his shirt and breeches as he approached her. He was getting fat, but he still had a great strength to him. He picked her up and laid her on the bed.

She never felt pleasure when he took her and she didn't now. Usually, all she had to do was lay and let him move. But this time he wasn't drunk which meant he would actually be paying attention.

She mustered some sounds and put on a display that would fool even the best of mummers. Once or twice she couldn't contain herself and felt a jolt of pleasure from Robert, but he would never give her the same feelings that Jaime could.

He was getting close to being done, and at the end of it, all was the most painful part of this whole thing. She waited for him to utter that damned name before finishing.

Robert's head fell next to her and he whispered to her. "Cersei."

Nothing but shock took over her emotions. Never once in all their years did he ever mutter her name before, it was always that Stark bitch's name. She locked eyes with Robert and could see that he had a lust for her.

He pulled her head to his and deeply kissed her against her will, but she let herself be taken by him at that moment.

By now he should have collapsed and fallen asleep, but he kept going, all the while holding her in his arms, whispering to her. "My Cersei."

* * *

Jaime

With his shift finally over, Jaime took to the White Sword Tower and relieved himself of his armor and cloak. His body felt so light after shedding the gilded steel, but he still felt a great weight upon him. He felt it ever since he left Winterfell.

It was still early in the night, and Jaime needed something to ease himself. He had been hoping to spend it with Cersei but Robert stole that from him. So instead, he would seek the company of his brother.

Tyrion was at a tavern called the Drunken Dragon at the edge of the Cobbler's square. It wasn't the richest of places given where it was located, but Tyrion had a knack for finding the best wines and beers. He was at a table surrounded by a few of their father's bannermen who accompanied them, telling drunken tales and jokes.

"What do you call a Frey girl that can outrun her cousins?"

All of the men looked dumbfounded for the answer.

"A Virgin!" Everyone started bursting with laughter, one man so much that he forgot to inhale and passed out. Tyrion's attention turned when he saw Jaime in the tavern.

"Dear brother!" He called as he approached. "Such a thing for you to join me. Come, there's another round of wine is on the way."

"Tyrion, I need to talk to you," Jaime told him in a serious tone.

Tyrion's gleeful mood disappeared and was replaced with concern. For being one of the drunkest men in the tavern, he sobered up fairly quick it seemed. He nodded and brought him to one of the more quieter places in the tavern. "Do you want something to drink?"

Jaime was going to refuse, but maybe some wine would be good right now. He nodded and almost like magic a horn of it was brought to him. Either the service was excellent or Tyrion really was a magician. "I'm surprised that you came. I thought you would be up to your chin helping Uncle Gerion prepare for his expedition."

"He insisted I should travel with father. He thought I would enjoy the city."

"And?"

Tyrion eyed his horn of wine. "Besides the smell, I find there are many great things King's Landing has to offer." He finished what wine remained and set the horn aside. "Enough of the small talk. The only time I ever saw you like this is when you told me why you killed Aerys."

"I told you because you were the only one who understood."

Tyrion nodded. "Father was too proud of taking the city and Cersei too enthusiastic to care. You will always have my ears to you."

Jaime felt heartened knowing that. "I didn't know Rhaegar that long, only a few months. But we had been together enough that he would call me his brother. He believed in me as much as he did Arthur Dayne or Oswell Whent. Do you know what his last words to me were?" Tyrion merely shrugged his shoulders and Jaime chuckled as he took a drink of his wine. "Protect my children, Jamie. Let no harm come to them as you would your own family." He took another drink. "I killed Aerys to protect father, and I was so blind to forget what Rhaegar asked of me. Father got everything he wanted that day, except for his heir. I wouldn't let my failure be his gain."

"Brother, you honored me by telling me the truth of that day. But other than that, I have not the fucking slightest as to what you are talking about now."

Jaime sighed as he leaned forward. "Seeing the Stark bastard at Winterfell… it made me remember. Since then I've felt like Rhaegar's ghost has been behind my back, whispering to me, reminding me of the promise I made to him."

"Would his ghost like to have a drink?" Tyrion burped, along with the jape. "I'm sorry, the wine." He set his horn aside and leaned to Jaime. "I've never had ghosts follow me, but if any did then I would tell them to go fuck themselves. They're the shadows of the dead. If Rhaegar is reminding you, maybe you should try asking why that is and what he wants you to do about it, not that you can. His children are dead with him, nothing we do can change that, you can only act on your failure."

Remembering what he heard, Jaime knew Tyrion was right. The children were dead, all of them. Rhaenys stabbed half a hundred times, Aegon's head, smashed against a wall and...

Jaime knew his brother was right. So he left Tyrion and departed back for the Red Keep. The journey was longer than the one he took to get to the tavern. Probably because he couldn't stop thinking about that day in Winterfell.

" _Kingslayer, go see if Ned is sulking," Robert ordered, but it was harsh considering his friend had just lost a child, bastard or not._

 _Jaime obeyed and followed after Catelyn, but she was most likely already with her husband when he left. The door to their room was closed and he was about to knock, but he could hear Lord Stark speaking._

" _He wasn't my son."_

" _You.. he-"_

" _He was Lyanna's. Her trueborn son with Rhaegar._ _I promised her I would protect him on her deathbed, I promised her and I failed."_

Even just the memory of those words haunted Jaime. There wasn't a single ounce of deceit or falsity. Ned Stark spoke true. Jaime had to creep away while he could. He told no one of what he heard, he still couldn't believe it.

"Why do haunt me so, Rhaegar?" Jaime whispered to himself. "I failed your last living child, what more do you want?" Jaime wanted to punch at something, but there was nothing and no one around. He thought about what Tyrion told him. What would he do now that he knew one of the greatest secrets in the world, so great that even in death Jon Stark's true heritage is a dangerous knowledge?

"This time… this time." He would keep his promise to Rhaegar and keep the secret of Jon Stark. "I swear I will protect your secret."

* * *

Jon

Leaning over the railing of the ship, Jon heaved out his food from the morning into the vast ocean. He wished he didn't have to vomit. He still had a hunger from death and he could feel his body lacking energy for strength. He wasn't sure if it was the fish from the afternoon or if seasickness finally caught up to him.

Asher whistled at Jon, impressed. "Never seen someone heave out so far. I think that's worthy of the Citadel."

' _Oh, shut up!'_ Jon's shouted in his mind, having no means to write anything down at the moment. He felt another blast rising in his throat and released it into the ocean.

"At least you're feedin' the fish." Asher teased.

Jon waved his fist in the air and wiped his mouth clean. He drank some water from a nearby bucket to clean his mouth of the taste and smell of his vomit. He could feel he had no more to heave out which was relieving.

"You finished?"

Jon still had the nasty feeling in his stomach, but he knew he was done. He set the bucket aside and rejoined Asher who patted him on his back.

"Don't worry, Ned. First time my older brother and I were on a ship, He threw up far more than you did." Asher picked up two nearby wooden poles that he and Jon were used as swords. "Come on, let's get back to practice."

Being on the ship was one of the most boring experiences for Jon. There was hardly anything to do except for watching the sailors work and the fish that would swim near the ship. Aside from that, the only other things Jon could do were eat, sleep, and think about his resurrection. He had probably asked some of the same questions dozens of times by now.

Luckily, Asher was set on keeping up with practicing his sword skills and had Jon join him every time. He was far more learned than Jon was and always struck harder than he promised he would. But the best thing about sparing with Asher was that it took Jon's mind away from his death and home.

Using a barrel lid as a shield, Jon took his stance and would go on the offensive this time. He was going to get Asher this time.

"Alright," Asher said, "I overheard one of the cabin boys say we're having pork jerky tonight. If you can land three hits on me before I land ten, I'll give you some of mine." Asher shook his arms out before taking his stance.

Jon felt more motivated to get the three hits now. He lost his breakfast and was getting hungrier than usual. ' _Okay, keep body loose, speed and strength, I can do this.'_ Jon took the first advance and Asher followed to meet him. Jon's advantage was that he had a shield and Asher didn't use one, but that was about it. Asher was stronger and faster and more skilled.

Asher took the first swing and Jon caught the rod with his shield and attacked low. But like all the other matches, Asher was quick enough to meet him. But this time Jon rushed forward and bashed into Asher with his shield and knocked him backward, giving him the time to land the first strike on Asher's left arm.

"You're learnin'." Asher said, "but you'vell still got a helluva lot to know." Asher knocked Jon's shield away and hit Jon square in the leg. The pain shot up to his body and Asher wasn't merciful as he followed up with another two strikes. "Don't let your guard down when you get a hit."

Jon brought his shield back to guard his body, but Asher's next strike was coming from above. Jon raised his rod and parried the strike and managed to tap Asher on the arm. ' _Just one more!'_

"Dammit!" Unexpectedly, Asher rushed forward and grabbed onto Jon's shield with his free hand, prying it away from Jon's body leaving him wide open. Asher thrust his rod to slide it underneath Jon's armpit like he was stabbing him.

The moment Jon felt the wood slide on his body, the memory of the man with the knife flashed before his eyes. He felt the memory of pain when the blade pierced his heart and that terrible smirk the man had, and Lady Stark's scream.

Jon panicked and lost all the strength in his legs and fell backward, dropping his rod and shield. He started to breathe heavily grasped at his chest where his heart was.

Asher laughed a little at Jon. "Haha, I have slain the tiny Ned Snow!" He thought Jon was playing with him, but Asher's expression changed when he saw the fear and haunting look Jon had in his eyes. "Ned? Ned, are alright?" Asher dropped his rod and knelt beside him.

Jon couldn't hold back the tears that formed from the memory he had.

"Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to."

"Wha's goin' on 'ere?" One of the sailors asked as he walked by. "Wha you do to 'im?"

"I didn't mean to hurt him, it was an accident!" Asher said.

The sailor shook his head as he rolled his eyes. "Looks like it's his chest. Get 'is shirt off an' check for bruises. We got some stuff for those." He left the two boys and got back to work.

Asher was big enough that he could pick up Jon. He brought him over to a corner of barrels and worked to get the doublet off.

It was then that Jon snapped out of his fear and realized what Asher was doing. ' _No stop! Don't look!'_ he fought back at keeping his shirt on, but Asher persisted.

"Cut it out! It's not like I'm not gonna take your pants too-" The temporary annoyance Asher had was replaced with complete shock as he fell on his rear. "What in seven hells was that?"

Jon locked eyes with Asher and was just as terrified as he was.

"Your chest… a scar." Asher slowly approached Jon. "I know I didn't just see things. You have a scar right here, a fresh one." He placed two fingers on the area of his chest where Jon was stabbed the first time. "Let me see it again."

Jon shook his head.

"Let me see, dammit!" Asher hissed.

Jon grew scared of what he would do if he didn't show. He lifted up the ends of his doublet and revealed not just the one, but both scars. The still hadn't healed or even began to scab. The remained open and clean of blood.

"Fuck. Those are knife wounds. My master at arms showed me one he took to his leg fighting the Ironborn. But these are deeper than his, you should be dead. I mean, Ned Stark's bastard took two knives to the chest and didn't-" He slowly shifted his gaze from the scars to Jon's eyes. He was at a loss for words for a moment. "Are… are you him? The Bastard of Winterfell?"

Jon's eyes fell to the deck before he nodded slightly.

"Oy, you two." One of the other sailors approached them. "Get to your cabins before the rain starts fallin'."

"Rain? What rain?" Asher asked.

The sailor pointed his finger in the direction they were sailing and arising from the horizon were a great many clouds that flashed from lightning.

"We're gonna sail through that?" Asher exclaimed.

"Hells no. We're changing course to avoid it. We're gonna make port several days from now in Pentos."

' _Pentos? Where's that? What about Volantis? What about the Red Priests?'_ Jon began to panic even more now. Asher found out his secret and now they weren't going to the place that had the answers for him.

Asher took notice of this and pulled Jon to his feet. "Come on, let's go to our cabin, alright? We can have some jerky and you can tell me the story about how you're still alive."

* * *

 **And now begins the stop until Night Dragons is finished. There won't be any more previews because many of you got butthurt because of them. But for those who said they were done with the story. As Gabriel Iglesias impersonating Bill Clinton once said- "Haha, I knew you'd be back."**


	10. Chapter 10

Benjen

"Open the gates!" the brother above the portcullis called out.

The large wooden doors might as well have just collapsed from their hinges. The wood was warped and cracking and the metalwork was rusting. It would take only a single charge with a battering ram to destroy the gates to Castle Black.

Benjen rode his horse through, leading in the recruits Ned managed to supply him with from Winterfell. The poachers Lord Welric gave had been collected along the way when they stopped by Wolfrain Keep. the Umber's men went to Eastwatch by the Sea and there were still many from the other Houses of the North yet to come. Benjen only wished that the majority of them were soldiers instead of criminals and boys with nowhere else to go.

But soon there would be a few hundred men going to each of the manned castles along the Wall. King Robert was generous to give a thousand men. The Night's Watch needed as many as they could get, but Benjen would refuse them all if he could. It felt more like Robert had no idea what to do to ease Ned's pain and just thought it would be something.

Lord Commander Mormont was watching from the balcony across from the lift as Benjen and the men he escorted pooled through the gates. The courtyard was bustling with men at work. The builders were doing maintenance on the life and the commons. The air echoed with the sounds of Donnel Noye's hammer striking his steel in the forges.

Benjen dismounted and let one of the stable boys take his horse from him. He didn't notice when his two brothers, Ser Jaremy Rykker and Alren the Blacksnake, met him. Of all his fellow brothers in the Watch, they were the only ones Benjen would consider true brothers to him.

"Welcome home, Stark." Ser Jeremy greeted. "How was the warm weather?" He was one of the more pleasant ones at the Wall.

Benjen was in no mood for talking right now. The entire journey from Winterfell, he only spoke maybe half a dozen times and only when he needed to. "I'm getting some food." He walked right past them and didn't pay heed when they followed.

"We heard about what happened to your nephew," Blacksnake said.

"Aye, so did the whole damn country." Benjen had seen many men and boys die in front of him before. He killed wildings that were younger than him, he watched green boys freeze to death and saw others dragged off by Sarshans and Thenns to be eaten alive. And yet despite that, he couldn't feel himself accepting Jon's death. "If you want your words to mean anything, then keep them to yourself."

Benjen took to the mess hall and was served his food by Hobb. Ser Jaremy and Blacksnake joined him at his table and were some of the few inside, eating. Except Benjen wasn't eating. He just stared at his stew as if he was expecting something to happen.

For the first time at the Wall, Benjen was not hungry. While the others ate, his rabbit stew and hard ale remained untouched. His left hand held his spoon as he swirled the contents of the stew around while his right hand rested on his temple with his elbows on the table.

"C'mon Stark." Ser Jaremy nudged Benjen in the shoulder. "It's better to move past this now than let it drag on. We've seen more than our share dead children beyond and behind the Wall. I know he was family to ya, but remember that he died honorably. He took a knife meant for the king and will be remembered for that. Might even get a song for it."

Benjen dropped his spoon and raised his head. "Do you think I want to remember my nephew in a song? Do you think I want to remember him as a child who got killed instead of a drunken king?" In the end, Jon's death was because an assassin's blunder and the whole realm would know it. It would be nothing but a joke for many.

"What's there to remember?" a voice from behind asked. Benjen turned and saw Ser Alliser Thorne behind him, smirking smugly at him. "Your brother's bastard got more than he deserved. A child of sin doesn't deserve a glorious end." Benjen stood up, got out of his seat and faced Ser Alliser. The mess hall quieted down as the tension rose. "I bet your brother's glad the stain on his honor got washed out."

Benjen clenched his fist so tight he thought his fingernails would cut into his palm. This knight was the real bastard. A child of a man who couldn't let go of his defeat in the rebellion.

"Ser Alliser…" Benjen said softly before pointing his finger to the high table, "do you see the Lord Commander there?"

The moment Ser Alliser turned his head, his face met with Benjen's knuckles square in the nose. Ser Alliser didn't even hit the ground by the time Benjen was on top of him and throwing punch after punch into his face.

"Benjen, no!" Ser Jaremy and Blacksnake got out of their seat and restrained Benjen, pulling him off of Alliser.

Benjen didn't resist much when they pulled him away. He vented enough of his anger to calm down. Ned would probably be ashamed of him for doing such a thing dishonorable. For once, Benjen didn't give a single damn about his honor.

Ser Alliser was still on the ground, grasping at his blood-soaked nose. "You broke my nose you fuckin' Stark!"

Before Ser Alliser could say more, Lord Commander Mormont got between him and Benjen. The Old Bear grabbed Ser Alliser by the shirt and pulled him off the floor to his feet. "I warned you not to do anything stupid, Thorne. Go clean yourself up." He let go of Alliser and turned his gaze to Benjen. "Stark, with me. Now."

Ser Jaremy and Blacksnake let go of Benjen as he followed the Lord Commander out of the mess hall. He was brought to the Lord Commander's chambers and seated across Commander Mormont.

Old Jeor Mormont didn't look pleased with Benjen or the situation. "How many times did you hit Thorne?"

"Three," Benjen replied sternly.

"For the respect I had for your father and condolences for your brother's son, I will forget of one for the nephew you lost."

"I apologize for letting my emotions get the better of me, but I won't ask for forgiveness from Thorne."

"I don't expect it of you nor demand that you do. But I can't let your outburst go unpunished."

"I understand."

Commander Mormont sighed out. "You are confined to your chambers until the eve of tomorrow. After that, I'm having you, the Blacksnake, and one of our new rangers go to Redwater Village. We've received a report of some trouble."

Red Water was on the edge of the Night Eye clan's territory. It was a village that has more than a dozen weirwoods growing on the edge of a river. The roots drank into the rivers water and the sap leaked into it, dying it red every so often.

"What kind?"

"The same kind that Caswell and Creggar ran found." Degory Caswell and Ser Creggar Woods ranged together to investigate one of the abandoned villages and found no trace of anything. The brother that joined them was a new recruit, fresh from his oath. His name was remembered by few but would be forgotten since he disappeared like the villagers when he went scouting on the range. There was no sign of death or any attack, he just vanished.

"And when you get back, you'll be assisting the stewards for the next two months for the two punches you gave Alliser."

"By your order, Lord Commander."

Benjen went straight to his room to prepare. It didn't take long, but he had nothing else to do, nor wanted to do. He tried lying in his bed and sleeping. He wouldn't be leaving until tomorrow evening and just wanted his confinement to go by quickly.

* * *

Daenerys

The caravan had stopped in a town just a mile outside the walls of the city, but the wagon driver Viserys paid was taking them through the gates. It was the least he could do for the delay that the Dothraki Horde caused.

They had been there once before, but only when she was a baby so she had no memory of it. Ser Willem Darry and a handful of knights loyal to her family were taking her and Viserys to Ser Willem's home with the red door in Braavos. The other knights disappeared from what she was told.

The walls around the city were very tall compared to the ones in Norvos. They were only half the height and they were much nicer. Pale stone that looked like it was cut and shaped by artists instead of stonemasons. Atop the portcullis was a stone carving of a rising sun with rays of carved light bursting from the center.

There were two guards at each side of the gate. They wore black leather armor and spiked helms that covered all but their eyes. Each man carried a long spear and a round shield as black as their armor.

"Do you see them, Dany?" Viserys asked as he pointed to the men. "Those are some of the greatest soldiers in the world. The Unsullied. Theirs is the only army ever known to force a Dothraki horde into submission."

"They look don't very strong though." The Unsullied were dark-skinned, but they were glistening with sweat and one of them shaking lightly. They showed many signs of exhaustion but remained vigilant, almost as if they didn't know they were.

"They are slaves trained for years, not savages on horseback. When I take back the Iron Throne from the Usurper, I may have them at my back."

Daenerys had never seen a battle before so she had no thoughts on how that would look or how many would fight. But one thing was for sure, there would be blood and lots of it. And the pigs in Westeros who murdered their family would deserve it when it happened. If Daenerys had a dragon of her own like her ancestors, she would fly straight to the Red Keep set fire to the Usurper who killed her older brother, and then Casterly Rock to kill Tywin Lannister for butchering her niece and nephew, and then Winterfell to melt the Usurper's Dog and the rest of the Starks.

The wagon road through the gates into the city and stopped at a stable.

"Right," the driver said, "end of the journey, welcome to Pentos."

Viserys and Daenerys hopped off the wagon and watched as it went back outside the city.

"What do we do now?" Daenerys asked. She looked around at her surroundings. The buildings were half the height of the walls and the people were bustling. She noticed one man staring at her and Viserys, either in awe or surprise. But he scurried away after the moment passed.

"We're looking for the magister who send the letter to us. His name a Vylor Roranus." Viserys took Daenerys's hand and held it as he led her into the city.

As they left the stables, the smell of horse was replaced by the smell of food. They came to the market area and saw many stalls and vendors selling pastries, wines, and all other sorts of foods.

The sight and smell made Daenerys's stomach growl. Because of the delay on the road, their rations were thinned and they hadn't eaten much in the morning.

"Viserys, could we get something to eat?"

"We'll have food when we arrive at the magister's manse."

"But the city is so big, we might not find it for a long time."

Viserys stopped and looked around to acquire his bearings. He sighed out, feeling just as tired and hungry as she was. "Alright." He rummaged through the satchel hidden in the bag and pulled out several coins. Most of them were copper "What do you want to eat?"

Daenerys looked around and spotted a man selling some fresh fruit at his stand. "Let's go over there." She led her brother over to the vendor and looked at all he had to offer.

"Fresh fruit, sweet and juicy!" he spotted Daenerys and Viserys approaching. "Fresh fruits, sweet as you, little sweet," he spoke to Daenerys.

"How much for two oranges?" Viserys asked.

"Five coppers." Viserys gave the man five coppers and the man gave them each a large orange. "Thank you greatly, good sir."

"Come on, Dany." Viserys led her away from the stall, but Daenerys had an idea.

"Viserys, wait." She returned to the vendor. "Excuse me."

"Is there something more you want? Perhaps a lemon or a tangerine?"

"No, thank you. I was wondering if you know where Magister Vylor Roranus lives?"

"Magister Vylor? He lives in a manse by the coast. It's the one with the five red towers. But what kind of business does a child like you have with a Magister?"

"I'm Princess Daenerys Targar-"

Viserys pulled her away and pressed his hand on her mouth, dropping his orange. "Sh! Don't tell anyone who you are!"

Daenerys didn't see why she had to. The vendor was a polite man and didn't seem to be like the kind of person she had to hide from. But she nodded and Viserys took his hand off her. He picked up his orange and led her out of the market in a haste. They found a rather unpopulated lane and sat off to the side to eat.

"Don't tell anyone else your name or mine until we are safe with the Magister, understand!?" He hissed at her.

"Yes, I'm sorry." Daenerys peeled her orange and tore a piece out from what was underneath. But when she bit down, there was not a shred of sweetness in the orange, only bitterness. So much that she spat out what was in her mouth. "Ugh, this tastes awful!"

Viserys ripped the peel off of his orange and bit down into it. His turned sour and he spat it out. "These aren't fresh! That fucking-" Viserys's anger disappeared when he froze looking down the lane. Daenerys followed his gaze and saw the man who sold the oranges to them with three others. All of them held knives.

"That's them," the merchant said. "They're the Targaryens."

"King Robert Baratheon will pay us mountains of gold for their heads." One of the other men said.

Visery dropped the orange and took Daenerys's hand and pulled her to her feet. "Dany, run!" The two of them broke for an alleyway.

"After them!"

They ran as fast as they could. Viserys pulled her as fast as he could. Daenerys felt she might trip over herself time and time again but her fear kept her from doing it. It was like her feet were being carried.

They came out into a different market. This one wasn't selling fruits or any foods like the one they were just in. There was nothing but metal work here. Armor, jewelry, weapons, and much more. This place was filled with more people too. Mostly large men who were fighters looking for equipment.

Viserys shoved between people while going in the most complicated path to throw off their chasers. It was starting to work. The adults couldn't keep up with the size of two children and most of them were rather fat and heavy legged.

They turned passed a stall selling armor when suddenly Viserys darted aside from someone but Daenerys wasn't as quick as him. She collided with someone and felt her hand slip out of Viserys's. She fell to the ground but landed on whoever she ran into.

She lifted herself up to get back to her brother but then saw the face of the boy she was on top of. The raven black hair, the dark eyes, it was all the same as how he looked in her dream. It was the boy she saw get stabbed by the scary man with the knife. "It's you." But when she tried to remember what his name was, it blanked on her.

"Dany, get up!" Viserys dropped the bag aside and pulled her off the boy frantically. "Come on, run!" He grabbed the bag back when the went to run again.

Daenerys looked back at the boy and saw he had something in his hand. It was the box with the ring in it. "Viserys, the ring! You dropped the ring!"

He didn't even look back. "Forget the ring, just run!" To him, the ring meant nothing it if cost them their lives. "Come on, this way!" The turned the corner and sprinted as fast as they could.

Daenerys was starting to get exhausted and she could see that Viserys was too. They were back in the streets and hid around the corner of a building. Viserys nearly fell down he was so exhausted. Both of them were out of breath.

"Did we lose them?" Daenerys asked.

"I'm not sure, Dany." Viserys peaked around the corner. He darted back and got to his feet. "They're still following us, but there's only three now." He hissed.

"Where's the other one?"

"Shh! They're looking for us."

Daenerys felt the fear sink deeper into her and she began to panic. She didn't want die. She wanted to go home to Braavos, to the house with the Red Door and the lemon tree that grew in front of it. She held tightly to her brother as she began to sweat.

They couldn't run from where they were. There was no alley behind them and the street was too open and had no way to go but one direction for about another mile. Daenerys looked down to see if there was maybe something she couldn't see, some way to escape. She closed her eyes and prayed to any god who would listen to help them.

"There! I see them!"

Daenerys's entire body tighten at the sound of that. She couldn't help but react as girl should and screamed loudly.

Viserys held onto her tightly and the three men ran for them. But before they got close, a spear had come from the other end of the street and founds its way to the closest of the men. The throw was so powerful that it took him off his feet and carried him far over until he hit the ground. The other two men looked back and immediately ran away in utter terror. Another spear came hurdling and struck another one of the men while two Unsullied charged after the last one.

Daenerys breathed out in utter relief. She felt as if she had woken up from a bad dream.

Viserys looked around the corner to see what was going on. "It's the Unsullied!" He said full of relief. "They were just down the road."

One of the Unsullied soldiers approached them and immediately halted. ' _Have these ones served you well?'_ He spoke in High Valyrian even though he was still considered a slave soldier.

' _You have.'_ Viserys replied.

The Unsullied bowed his head and rejoined his fellow soldiers.

Daenerys stood up with her brother and looked around. The Unsullied had caught up to the last of the men and killed him too. She felt safe again until a hard slap came across her face from Viserys.

"You dumb bitch!" He growled her. "This is all your fault! If you hadn't opened your mouth to that merchant, this wouldn't have happened and we wouldn't have lost our most valuable treasure! How am I supposed to afford a large enough army now?"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Daenerys clasped at her cheek at the stinging of tears began to form in her eyes. "I didn't mean to."

"Of course you didn't, because you didn't think. Gods be damned, the ring's probably been taken by some peasant and out of the city by now." Viserys yelled out his frustrations before grabbing Daenerys's hand painfully tight and pulling her as he walked. "Come on, we need to get to the Magister's." He grumbled.

"But I saw who took the ring," Daenerys told him, "it was the same boy from my dream! Maybe he still has it."

"Would you shut up! Enough about dreams and your dumb ideas! The ring is gone, and it's your fault." His pace quickened as they went down the road.

Daenerys had told herself that dragons do not cry every time she felt the want to. But at this moment she realized that she wasn't a dragon, just a stupid girl who messed everything up for her brother. She kept herself as silent as she could as the salt of her tears stung where Viserys had slapped her.

* * *

Jon - Moments Ago

' _Don't leave the ship until you reach Volantis.'_ Thoros told him. His words were absolute when they parted ways. And yet Jon still wondered how he was convinced by Asher to join him in exploring Pentos.

Ever since Asher found out, he had been in Jon's company more than he usually was, but he wasn't rather prodding about what happened in Winterfell. Jon told him once and that was the end of it. His lingering was probably how he took notice to Jon's amazement when they first saw the city when they were on the ship. It was ten times the size of White Harbor and so different.

And the temperature was so much hotter than it ever was in the North. Jon hadn't worn his cloak for days and had the sleeves of his doublet removed.

"Come on, Jon." Asher was standing atop a pedestal next to a statue of a man in robes. "You have to see this!"

Jon climbed up to the statue with Asher and was amazed at the view. The city was full of so much life. There must be more people in all of Westeros crammed into this place. The buildings were all a pearl white with rooftops a ceramic orange. The way they were made was so rich and artistic compared to the simpleness of Winterfell.

"Come on!" Asher hopped down from the statue. "Let's go explore."

Jon did feel the desire to go do that, but they were getting farther from the ship and they did not have much time to get back. He pointed in the direction they came.

"Don't worry, as long as we just go look real quick and we'll make it back in time. He grabbed Jon's arm and pulled him down and into the market.

If they would only look, then it shouldn't take that long. And as long as they didn't go too far they wouldn't get lost. But then again, he was worrying about every little thing since he left the North. Maybe this would be good.

Asher went on ahead to the sounds of steel being struck against anvils.

Jon followed after but slowly. He wished it to take longer, he wanted to try to think to himself about where he was rather than what was awaiting him in Volantis and why he was here, to begin with.

' _I wonder what kind of swords they use in Essos. Maybe curved ones like in Maester Luwin's books about the Rhoynar and Queen Nymeria. But that one man we passed had two longswords on his back so maybe they have some Westeros knights here too.'_ He looked around at some of the armor being displayed on stands and racks. ' _Those look different than what father wears. It looks more comfortable-'_

Jon's thoughts were interrupted when something, or rather someone, ran into him. He fell hard in the dirt and softened the fall of whoever ran into him. He grunted out silently and nearly had the wind knocked out of him.

Jon looked at who was on top of him and became starstruck at the pair of eyes looking back at him. They were a color purple, almost pink, and looking them was like looking at two jewels and belonged to a girl his size. Her hair was almost pure silver when the sun's light hit it. Even if he could speak, he would still be speechless. He couldn't help but be amazed, she was like something out of a storybook.

She looked terrified of something, but then it changed into surprise when she looked at him too. She seemed to forget what just happened and remained on him, staring eye to eye. "It's you." She said.

"Dany, get up!" An older boy with the same color of eyes and hair as the girl grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off Jon. He was absolutely afraid, just as she was when Jon first saw her on him. "Come on, run!" Jon sat up at first but paused when he saw a small box resting in the dirt in between his legs. He picked it up and looked back to the girl and the boy, holding the box out to them as they ran. Only the girl looked back and noticed it.

"Viserys, the ring! You dropped the ring!" The girl cried out. The boy looked back and only caught a glimpse of the box but he didn't care for it.

"Forget the ring, just run!" They disappeared down the street, growing smaller in the distance.

Jon got to his feet and inspected the box as Asher returned to him. The first thing he noticed was a three-headed dragon carved into the lid. He recognized it, but couldn't remember where he did.

"I saw what happened. Are you alright?" he asked.

Before Jon could give any form of response, he heard a voice call out from where the girl and the boy came from.

"They went this way!"

Jon and Asher both looked back and saw a group of men pushing through the crowd. They each had knives in their hands.

Asher took the box from Jon and stood in the path of the men. "Stop it!" He called at them and held out the box. "This is what you want, right? Take it and leave 'em alone." He opened the box and took out a beautifully made ring with a ruby dragon it.

"Fuck me," one of the men, the fattest of the lot, said, "Those brats had treasure on them. You three get the kids, the ring's mine."

"Oh damn." Asher dropped the box but held onto the ring. "Fuck! Run Jon!" Asher grabbed Jon by the shoulder and darted through various stalls. The man pursued them but had trouble maneuvering as they did.

Jon and Asher made it to the streets and ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Asher could have gone farther than Jon by now, but he was pulling him to keep them together.

They turned into an alleyway that led deep between many buildings. Unfortunately, they made a wrong turn and came to a dead end with nothing but a huge pile of rags lying in the dirt. They turned around but the man had already caught up.

"You fuckers," He snarled and stuck his knife out. "Give me that ring."

Asher reached an arm to his belt, but his eyes widened he remembered he had left his sword and ax on the ship.

Jon was pushed behind Asher as the man walked closer to them. He bared his teeth at them like an animal about to attack prey.

There was a shuffle among a pile of rags off to the side. From beneath the pile rose a hooded, dirty man, groaning and burping himself awake. He eyes were tightly shut as he rose to his feet and leaning up against a wall. He undid his breeches and began pissing in the alley, in full view of everyone present. He finally cracked opened his eyes and looked around, but when he met the gazes of Jon and Asher, he paid no heed and continued to piss.

"Oy, fuck off, you." The chaser growled.

"Mmm… almost done." He finished emptying his water before concealing his cock back in his breeches. "Used to be you could piss and be undisturbed." The man shuffled through the pile of rags and pulled out a belt with a sword and dagger strapped to it. Both of the weapons were beautifully decorated with detail, but the sword was the most impressive. It had what looked like animal teeth in various parts of the hilt.

When the belt was strapped around the man's waist, he reached down again and pulled out an empty wineskin. "Damn, it leaked-"

"I said fuck off!" The chaser shoved the man aside and there was nothing between him and Asher and Jon. But before he could step any closer, the man grabbed the chaser's shoulder and stopped him.

"Well, that was rude. First, you peek at me taken a piss and now you shove into me-"

The chaser spun around with the knife held up, jabbing it towards the drunken man. But unexpectedly the man moved aside as if he was falling over in a drunken stupor and shoved the chaser to the ground.

"That wasn't very smart of you." The man said.

The chaser glared angrily as he got to his feet and pointed his knife at the man.

"You don't want to do that. Just run back to where you came from and we'll all forget this happened." There was no sign that the chaser was going to do as he said. "Listen, I have a broadsword and a dagger. And I should warn you," his eyes narrowed into a cold stare, "I'm only half drunk."

The chaser dashed forward, yelling out as he tried to thrust his knife into the man. But in an instant, the man's movements changed from being sluggish to a refined dodge and at the same time he drew his dagger and ran the edge deep into the chaser's neck.

The chaser fell down hard and grabbed at the wound. Blood began to spill into his throat and he choked and gurgled his own blood. In mere seconds, the chaser was dead.

Jon shivered at the sight as the blood began to spread into a big puddle. Was that what he looked like when he was killed. He grabbed the back of Asher's shirt, holding tight as the memories began to play over in his head again.

The man wiped dagger on the fabric of his shirt's front tails, not caring about the stain. "Honestly, you'd think muggers would have a sense of reason… or at least manners." He looked back at Asher and Jon. "What'd you two do? Pull at his sack hairs?" the man pulled back his hood and revealed hair that was as almost as white as the clouds that reached down to his shoulders. The way the sun reflected off of it reminded Jon of the girl's hair. He had the beginnings of a beard, but that was just from not shaving. But his eyes were what were the most interesting. They were almost the same color purple as the girl and the boy from before. His were slightly darker in color and deeper in the color red than blue.

Asher stepped forward and answered his question. "He was chasing some other children with his friends. I got in the way but it didn't go how I thought it would..."

The man groaned as he rolled his eyes at them. "Dumb kids playing savior-" His eyes widened as he gagged forward and vomited out a heap of bile. "Fuck me, that tasted awful." He wiped his lips on his sleeve and looked back at Asher and Jon. "You got any coin?"

"Maybe," Asher replied.

"Good, because you're buying me breakfast for saving your little idiot asses." He rested a hand on the pommel of his sword as he waited for Asher and Jon to join him. "Anytime before he shits himself would be nice." He lightly kicked the dead body. "And before any Unsullied find us and have us all killed."

That spurred Jon and Asher to leave as quick as they could. They followed their rescuer to a tavern nearby and had no choice but to buy him some food.

Jon declined the offer from Asher from something to eat. He didn't feel well after watching someone else die only minutes ago. But he didn't feel sick from the experience. In fact, he didn't feel that estranged about it at all. Instead, he kept wondering if the man who died went were Jon went when he died. That void of nothingness. Was there a man singing and playing a harp for him too?

Jon kept his hands under the table and twiddled the ring in his fingers. Asher gave it to him when they left the alley. It made him think about the dragon that was one the box. It was also on the ring as a ruby. He knows he has seen it somewhere, it was on the tip of mind. ' _A three-headed dragon. There was a House that had their sigil like this, but what was the name?'_ His thoughts drifted over to the boy and girl the ring belonged to. ' _I wonder if they got away. I hope they did. Maybe we can find them and return the ring. Why would anyone want to kill them if it isn't for the ring then what? And what did that girl mean when she said 'it's you'? Did she recognize me? I've never seen her before… she was kinda pretty though.'_

"Oy, runt." The man called to Jon, breaking him out of his thoughts. "I said where you from?"

"He can't speak," Asher answered for him. "We're from the North."

"Ah, Westeros. Been there once, smelled like shit so I came back. Where're you headed?"

"I'm going to Tyrosh to join up with some sellswords or maybe become a pit fighter. Jon's going to… Oh, fuck!" Asher exclaimed. "Jon, our ship! We're going to miss it!"

Jon had no time to get shocked as Asher jumped out of his seat and quickly left some coin for their rescuer. They both ran out of the tavern and did their best to navigate back to the docks. But they had taken so many turns running from their attacker. They couldn't tell which way they came from and were deeper into the city than they wanted to be. Nothing looked familiar.

Eventually, they found where they started and backtracked to the port of the city. The ran to where their ship was docked but when they got there, it was already gone.

"Oh… shit." Asher groaned. "Dammit!" He kicked a nearby wooden bucket in his frustration. "All my things, gone!" His sword, ax, and the rest of his money were all still their cabin.

Jon looked out to the sea and thought he could see their ship just sailing beyond the horizon. They were now stuck in the city. What were they going to do? He had to get to Volantis to the Red Priests Thoros told him about.

"I take it you missed your boat." Jon and Asher both looked and saw the man from the alley had followed them. He was leaning against a post with Asher's money in hand and still looking very drunk to the point he might just fall over. He walked up to Asher and shoved the money back to him. "This is fucking Westerosi coin. It's worth nothing here unless you trade it at a bank for good money."

"How'd you pay for your food then?"

"Never do." He walked out to the docks and looked out to the sea. "From the looks of it, you need someone to take you out of the city to where you're headed." He looked back to Jon and Asher. "I'll do it for the right price."

"You just said my money was worthless," Asher told him. "We got nothing else."

"You got a nice ring there." He pointed to Jon's hand.

Jon hid his hands behind his back while shaking his head. It wasn't his ring to give away.

"Listen, even if you do exchange your for the right currency, you'll get less than you give because of tax on converting money, and you'll still need about five times what you get to hire a boat. A small boat to be exact." He sat down on a barrel and unsheathed his dagger after pulling out an apple from his satchel. He began cutting off pieces and eating them. "You don't have much a choice given how alone you two are."

Asher looked at Jon with uncertainty. "I hate to say it, but he might be right."

Jon took out one of his parchments and charcoals and began writing down on it. ' _It's not our ring.'_

"No, it's not," Asher told him. "But I'm guessing that those kids it belongs to didn't get so lucky like we did. There were three men after them and they're probably dead by now. So now it's no one's except ours. Now give it here." Asher held his hand out to Jon.

Jon looked back between Asher and the man. It didn't feel right to just give the ring away after finding it how they did. But Asher was right. They didn't have much of a choice and he needed to get to Volantis. But first, he wrote down on his parchment again and showed it to the man. ' _Do you promise to take us to where we need to go?'_

He nodded. "I swear on my blood as a Valyrian. I'll take you to where you're going if you give me the ring."

' _What's your name?'_ Jon wrote.

The man eyed Jon curiously with half a grin on his face. "Baelgor Aekylosh. Do we have a deal?" He held his hand out for the ring.

Jon took one last look at it, apologizing in his mind to the ones who lost it before giving the ring to Baelgor. ' _Sorry about this.'_

"Wonderful." He gave a tired smile as he stood from the barrel and sheathed his dagger. "Follow me. I'll get this appraised, sold, and buy us passage to Tyrosh."

"First, Volantis," Asher added.

Baelgor's expression immediately changed from dazed to utter seriousness. He shot a look at Asher. "Trust me, you don't want to go there."

"Not me, him." Asher pointed at Jon. "He's got to go meet the priests of the Lord of Light."

Baelgor looked at Jon in a way that made him nervous. "I can't go there. I'm a known wanted man there. I'll take you to Tyrosh and no further."

"Then no deal," Asher told him. "Jon has to go to Volantis. He has questions that need answers."

"Ha! Who told you the red followers have answers? Was it another priest? Did he tell you what they practice in Volantis?"

Jon thought about it. Thoros hadn't said a word him about what to expect. Not only that, but Jon hadn't the slightest clue as to what they practiced or worshiped, really. He shook his head 'no' for his answer

"The Servants of the R'hllor burn people alive for their god. Not just men, but women and children too. They do it all because their god commands them to for nothing!"

The things Baelgor was saying started to scare Jon. He knew nothing about the Lord of Light and Thoros did not mention a single thing about burning sacrifices. Was he trying to lure him to be a sacrifice too?

Jon quickly wrote down on his parchment and showed it to Asher. ' _I don't want to go anymore.'_

"But you told me the priest said you'd get answers to why you-... to why you're still _here_." Asher turned to Baelgor. But Jon gave him a look he hoped Asher would understand and, to his relief, it seemed to work. "Are you sure we can trust this man?"

' _He looks fowl, but I think he's alright.'_ Jon wrote.

As Asher read it, he pointed out an error. "Firstly, you need to be absolutely sure. I mean, if I been through what you have… actually, I have no idea what in seven hells I would feel. Secondly, the foul you mean is spelled with a 'U', not a 'W'. Different meanings. Just do what you think is wise first, alright?" Jon nodded and Asher turned to Baelgor. "Take us to Tyrosh first, and if he still doesn't want to go, then fine. He'll stick with me and the money you get for the ring is all yours."

Baelgor rested his hand on the elaborately decorated hilt of his sword. "Works for me," he said, sticking his and out. With another glance back to Jon, Asher took the hand in a firm shake, before he did likewise with Jon.


	11. Chapter 11

**What does this update mean? It means We're gonna keep going! After much thought, I've decided to keep the writing as is. Jon's storyline was going to be the only thing was different anyways. When we get to the part where it would have become what this one is getting to, I might leave a little summary of what that idea was. By the way, I'm currently beta-lesss so if anyone is interested and got what it takes let me know. Enjoy**

* * *

Benjen

The last three days had been nothing but clear skies and the signs of weather showed that it was going to stay that way for at least a few more days. The ranging party had crossed over a leg of the Frostfangs to save a weeks journey going around to Redwater Village.

Benjen and Blacksnake had no troubles, but the new ranger, Karl Tanner from King's Landing, nearly died several times and wouldn't shut up about the cold. Benjen had welcomed him to go back to Castle Black on his own but given his inexperience he had no choice but to stay. Not only that, but Tanner had been constantly festering at the pommel of his dagger.

The Lord Commander told Benjen of Karl's past. He was a well known murderer from Flea Bottom. Karl Tanner had killed men, women, and children both rich and poor. It was easy to see that he was wanting desperately to slit Benjen and Blacksnake's throats. But if he did, then how would he survive?

They trekked on until they crossed the final mountain and found the forest at the foothills of it. In the far distance they could see the gathering red leaves of the many weirwoods of the village.

They advanced down into the trees and deeper. Benjen was getting a sense of panic that pricked at his mind constantly. Something wasn't right. He had been to this area at least half a dozen times already and there was always good game to be found. Moose, elk, deer, and the fattest rabbits. But there was nothing. No life except the trees and no sound except the cold, biting wind.

Benjen guided his horse to a poorly made tail that was only marked by the stumps of trees that had been cut down. There should be some lumberers out at this time of day or hunters. There should have been someone at least.

"Anyone else feel like we're being watched?" Blacksnake asked.

"Fuck off," Karl growled, "if someone were watchin' us, I'd know. I always know if someone's watchin'." His words were honest at least.

"Keep moving," Benjen ordered, "we're a mile away. Soon we'll have a fire to sit by…" His words were forced to end as the sudden breeze was so cold it silenced him. Flakes of snow began to pass by and sting on the face of his skin. At first he thought it was the snow sitting in the branches of the trees just falling with the wind but it wasn't. It was coming directly from the sky and thickening fast.

The winds today were not natural and neither was this snowstorm that appeared out of nowhere. It just happened without warning and so suddenly. From the top of the mountain there wasn't a single cloud in sight and the horizon line itself stretched to fifty miles away. Was there a witch casting spells or was the cold misdirecting Benjen's senses?

It was getting too cold. The horses were tough but this would prove too much for them in another hour, maybe two. "Pick up the pace!" Benjen commanded and forced his horse into a slow gallop. Blacksnake and Karl did the same and followed closely behind.

After a hard few minutes, the aspen and oaks trees all around had cleared and the village was it sight. But there was no activity or any sign of life. It was like an empty husk. There were more than a dozen log cabins but the river that ran through the middle of the village separated them nine on one side and five on the other. In the center of the village was a giant stone with markings and runes of the First Men carved into it. Whether it was a deity like the weirwoods or just a rock mattered not.

There was no sign of any people around still. The only faces were those of the weirwoods that grew right next to the stream. They were all the same face, a face that was morbid and sad.

When they reached the first log cabin, Benjen dismounted and pounded his fist on the door. "Hello?" He called out but received no answer. He cracked open the door and peered inside and was shocked to find it empty or people. There was a fur bed half made, some wicker baskets and basins, and a broken bronze axe in the middle of the floor.

Regardless of the state of the home, Benjen and the others had to get out of the snow. He looked back and waved at them. "Blacksnake, get a fire going! Karl, come with me!" He had to find some shelter for the horses and he didn't want to leave the Blacksnake alone with Karl Tanner.

Benjen took the reigns of Blacksnake's horse and made for the neighboring cabin. Again, Benjen knocked and received no answer and again, the cabin was empty. "Karl, get the horses inside and make sure they stay warm and fed. I'm going to check the rest of the village."

Out of caution, Benjen drew his sword and moved at a brisk pace to check each of the cabins. As he moved from building to building, he scanned around the outskirts of the village. Blacksnake's superstition was started to feel real. There was someone watching them.

There were only three remaining cabins to check on his side of the river. The first of them was similar to the other two. Items scattered into clutter but no sign of why. The second one however had something at least. The door was broken into splinters and the walls had been chopped and clawed at on the outside. On the inside, there were stains of blood but no bodies. In the third house, it was just as the first three were but there was something of use at least.

Benjen hurried back to regroup with Blacksnake and Karl to get some warmth before checking the other side of the river. When he got inside the cabin, there was a good fire burning and both of the men were taking great comfort in the heat.

"I got something to eat, boys." Benjen presented a slab of frozen moose meat to them and both were wide eyed with joy and hunger. He gave it to Blacksnake since he was the better cook out of the three of them and sat down to get warm.

"Did you find anythin' else? Any people?" Karl asked as he shivered.

Benjen shook his head. "Neither living nor dead. There might've been a skirmish of some kind, but we won't know until we check the other cabins. Did you settle the horses?"

"Fed and covered in furs." Karl informed.

"Good. Now get that meat cooked. We go together once we've eaten."

The meat was tough to chew and bitter in taste but it was better than the stale bread and plant root they had been eating since the Frotstfangs. Benjen reminisced of all the leftovers from the feast in Winterfell. The honey glazed boar, gods, he would murder for just another bite of it.

"Guh…" Karl groaned as he chewed, "don't these savages have salt at least?"

"Things like salt and spices mean little to the Wildlings." Benjen told him. "It's steel and furs they value."

"Bout five years ago," said Blacksnake, "I saw some of the Ice River people with stone spears decorated with bits of gold. And then one of the men from the Shadowtower brought back a bronze axe. The butt had an amethyst bigger than my big toe tied into it. Just think, if we could wipe them all out then who knows what riches are beneath the snow?"

Karl chuckled mockingly at the Blacksnake. "Gold, jewels, those are riches of petty men." He drew his knife and twirled it between his fingers. "Real wealth is blood spilt. And believe me, I am the richest man from King's Landing."

By the time they had their fill, swords were drawn and they marched through the blistering winds that blew by. Their heavy winter clothes were starting to fail at keeping out the cold but they had to keep on moving. They came to the only bridge that passed over the river. Even though the river was only about as wide as Benjen's height, only a fool would try to walk through it. The waters contained streaks of red at the time. Given how thick the storm was, it was hard to see upriver if it was the sap of weirwoods or blood.

Each ranger split up to cover three cabins each. Benjen took the middle three, Karl the three on the far left and Blacksnake to the right. These buildings gave far more indication than the five across the river. One of Benjen's was completely smashed in from the roof. Most likely it was a giant that did this. But given how nomadic they were and how they kept to themselves, attacking a village didn't seem likely. And there weren't any that roamed this far south.

Benjen looked at his other cabins and found that they were similar to the one he found. The doors were bashed and broken, there were signs of attacking to break in, and there was blood staining the floor and the walls.

"Stark!" Karl called.

Benjen was surveying his last cabin when he heard and rushed to find Karl. The cold wind almost blew him down into the snow at one point as he fought against them to move. When he came to Karl's location, he found Karl grim faced and pointing his sword at a mutilated body of a Wilding. It was an elderly man, probably sixty years of age. His corpse had a large stone knife stuck in his throat and had yet to start decomposing which meant whatever happened here was recent, maybe a week.

He knelt down at inspected further, finding many stab wounds from knives and spears alike. But after a moment, he suddenly noticed something odd. There wasn't any stench of rot. He sniffed deeply but found nothing. There was a slight stink of the bowels but that should have been overpowered by rotting flesh greatly so.

A sudden deathly scream erupted through the howling winds and both men darted their gazes to the outside. "Blacksnake," Benjen muttered. Both of them charge out of the cabin and ran to the three cabins furthest away from them.

Benjen checked the first while Karl checked the second. There was no sign of the Blacksnake to be found in this and Karl was silent. He made his way to the last cabin and found it empty of any bodies. It was cluttered and messy like the rest, but there was something that did not belong to any Wildling.

When Karl had come, Benjen was already kneeling down at the Blacksnake's falchion, or rather what remained of it. The hilt and the bottom half of the blade were both intact but the rest was in pieces like shattered glass.

"If the sword's here," Karl muttered, "then where's the man who owns it?"

"Outside," Benjen ordered, "scout the area outside the village, now!"

Benjen and Karl rushed outside into the winds of eternal winters and looked around for any sign of their man. Benjen found a set of footprints that were made maybe a minute ago but were being covered quickly by the snow. "Karl! This way!" Benjen called out as they followed the trail over a small ridge and past three saddened weirwoods. They continued on to the forest but without any form of sign as to why, they had vanished. There were hints of pints in the snow, but they were covered up to much and Benjen had not the skill to read. If only the Halfhand was with them, he could track a Wilding from where's it's been a week ago.

"Where'd he go?" Karl exclaimed. "Where'd he fuckin' go?"

"I don't know!" Benjen yelled as he scanned around for any sign. The trees were too thick to see through. "We keep going. Spread out twenty yards. Shout if you find anything!"

"Fuck off! I'm going back to the fire-" Karl was grabbed at the straps of his heavy cloak and pulled a nose length away from Benjen.

"We don't leave our own behind unless they're dead! Now find me a body or become one!" He shoved Karl away and trudged as quick as he could through the snow in the direction the trail had been going.

The winds did not let up and they continued to pushed Benjen as he tried to advance. He kept Karl in his sights, making sure that bastard didn't flee from his task. But his main focus was to find any kind of sign of Blacksnake that he could. This entire hour had been so unnatural. This was more than what had been found at the other villages.

Benjen stopped when his boots stepped on something that crunched underneath. It felt strange given that every step had been soft snow. He knelt down and sifted his hands through the snow. When he felt his fingers catch something, he lifted his hand up and found pieces of shattered ice. He sifted some more and felt something bigger, a stick? He pulled it out and found it to be an arrow. He noticed that instead of bronze or stone, the arrowhead was made from something he had never seen before. It looked like black glass but in the light it reflected a few dark colors.

Benjen looked all around, pleading to the gods that there would be a sign as to what happened. "Blacksnake!" He called out, hoping that something might respond back. "Cooper!" But there was nothing.

He took the arrow with him and met up with Karl. "Did you find any sign of him?"

"Nothin'!" Karl had to shout through the winds to be heard.

He didn't want to accept it, but his friend was gone. "Dammit… we're going back to cabin! We'll look again once the storm is gone!" The two rangers turned back and made for the village. By the time they reached the weirwoods on the outskirts, Benjen pointed over past Karl. "Let's get the body you found. We're taking it with us when we go back."

"Why for?"

"It's the only body that's been found in any of the searches." They walked up from behind the cabins back into the one that contained the body. When Karl got to the doorway, he stopped and paled more than the cold was making him.

"What?" Benjen asked but saw what it was that haunted Karl when he peered inside the cabin. The body was gone. "What in seven…"

Karl moved inside and looked around. "Where'd it go?" Benjen turned and scanned around the village. Had someone set a trap so they could abduct Blacksnake?

Benjen froze when saw something, something that he couldn't look away from. The snowstorm made it hard to see, but for a brief moment he saw a figure of a man standing on the roof where the horses were before it jumped off.

He knew his mind had to be playing tricks on him. If he saw right, the person on the roof wore hardly anything. And the skin was like ice. But the eyes… the eyes were so blue that they were glowing.

"Back to the cabin, now!" Benjen ordered. He led Karl past the large rock with markings and runes and to the bridge. Although, given that the river had completely frozen since they first crossed, the bridge wouldn't be needed.

But that was the last thing that they were concerned about. Whoever or whatever was doing all of this had left their mark. The horses were all butchered and cut up in the snow. The remains had been arranged into a strange symbol just like in the other villages.

"Whoever you are!" Karl shouted as he drew his dagger. "I'm gonna bled you like a fuckin' pig! I'm Karl Tanner! The greatest killer in King's Landing! When I find you, I'm going to enjoy listening to your beggin' for death!"

Benjen didn't shy from Karl's bloodthirst and ferocity that given the circumstances. He felt he was growing mad. All this in just one afternoon. What in Seven Hells was going on?

* * *

Catelyn

"Look! Look!" Arya said excitedly as she looked out of the window of the wheelhouse. The Stark entourage of fifty men escorting Catelyn and her children to Riverrun had finally come over the hill that overlooked her home. "Gumpa's cassle!" After saying that about Castle Cerwyn, Moat Cailin, the Twins, and Oldstones, she finally got it right.

"Yes, that's your Grandfather's castle. He'll be so happy to see you all again after so long." And she herself would be happy to see her father and Edmure.

She wished that Ned had joined her and the rest of the children. But he still needed time to mourn and come to terms with himself. Every morning he would always visit the tombs of Jon and Lyanna Stark (who was truly actually Lyanna Targaryen by law). As his wife, she gave him all the comforts a woman could give and it did what it could. He wanted some time alone to heal.

The Stark host neared the drawbridge as it was lowered and rode into the castle. It felt so wonderful to be back home. The moment the wheelhouse halted and the door opened, the heat of spring filled inside. The smells of the North were gone and replaced by the fragrances of the Riverlands.

Catelyn stepped out first with Bran in her arms and helped Arya and Sansa as they exited as well. Her baby boy had been fast asleep the past hour but would soon be waking up.

Robb didn't ride with his family in the wheelhouse. Instead he rode on a horse next to Ser Rodrick at the van. He had changed so much. He didn't smile very often anymore and was constantly brooding. In fact he was acting just like Jon would on a regular occasion. Still, he was getting along with Theon Greyjoy rather well and it seems that they both have made friends with Domeric Bolton.

Edmure was in the courtyard waiting to meet and greet them. He sped forward to his sister and opened his arms to her.

"My dear sister," he said, "I'm glad you decided to come." He gently hugged her and gave a quick kiss on her cheek. He looked down to Bran and gave a warm but proud smile. "His colors are ours. The Tully blood is strong in him as it is with your other two." He knelt down to Sansa and Arya and they both swarmed him with hugs.

"How has father been? Has his health improved?" Catelyn asked.

"Much so," Edmure told her, "but he is currently busy. There's been another dispute with the Brackens and Blackwoods again.

"Seven help us, will they never settle down?" Those two houses were practically willing to fight over anything these days just like the Forresters and the Whitehills. "What is it this time?"

"Do you remember Lord Tytos' firstborn, Brynden?"

Brynden Blackwood. He had been just a young boy when he attended Catelyn and Ned's wedding. Now he would be a young man. "What about him?"

"He went on a hunt with his friends on Bracken lands. They had been given permission but the game warden mistook them for poachers and shot an arrow into Brynden's leg. At least that is Lord Blackwood's story. Lord Bracken says that he did give permission but the men got drunk and were threatening the game warden who had to defend himself."

Catelyn rolled her eyes and sighed. "I'm sure the truth is somewhere in between."

"Come, we've prepared your room and those for your children." Catelyn needn't follow her brother to her old room, she knew every step and stone of this castle by heart.

The children were given to Edmure for a little while as Catelyn headed to her room to settle down after the long ride. Her room was exactly as she left it. The crib her father had made for Robb had been brought for Bran. Time had been kind to it and the details on the sides. Direwolves hunted in a great pack on one side while a school of trout swam upstream on the other.

She set her baby boy down on the soft blankets before seating herself on her feather bed. It was all as she remembered. The people were the same and their were a few new faces as well both young and old.

She wandered over to her window and gazed outward to her father's lands. She remembered a few oak saplings growing on the banks of the Red Fork but they had become much larger since. Some fishing boats were anchored in the river, probably gathering tonight's supper.

"Hello, Cat."

Catelyn turned to her door and saw her Lord Father standing in the doorway. He still wore the same red and blue cloak he always did and still kept his face shaved. His hair was getting closer to being more grey than auburn red.

She rushed over to her father and wrapped her arms around him as he did to her. His embrace warmed her heart so much. She didn't realize how much she truly missed him until now.

"It's so good to see you again. I cursed every possible word I know when my health kept me from the feast. I longed to see my grandchildren. But here you are with them."

"Father… I missed you."

"And I you, Cat." His gaze found Bran's crib and he walked over to it. "His name?"

"Brandon. We all call him Bran for short."

Hoster smiled as he wiggled a finger at Bran which made him smile. "Such a beautiful baby boy." He looked back at Catelyn but his joy was replaced with sorrow. "May I see your hands?"

Catelyn walked over to her father and display the scars on her palms. They were still very visible and bright red. Sometimes the wounds would sting from a phantom pain and it always reminded her not of the dagger that made them but her prayer to bring death to Jon Snow.

Her father traced his fingers over them and tensed up. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there to protect you, Cat. I swore to your mother I would until my dying day... and here you are with scars of war."

His words panged in Catelyn's heart. "Father, I need to confess to you." She held onto his hands tightly as the fear and sadness of the memories of that day in the sept came back. "I failed him. I failed my husband and my children." She sat down on the edge of her bed and her father knelt down in front of her. "I prayed for the boy's death and the gods granted it. He died in my arms that night shedding tears and blood…" her eyes began to sting as the guilt of her years of anger to Jon Snow weighed heavy on her.

"Shh… Catelyn, it's not your fault. The one who drove the knife is the one to blame."

"But what kind of mother would pray for the death of a child? Do you know what he said before he died? He said he wanted his mother. A woman he never saw or knew but all the same he was begging for her." Her tears began falling on her father's hands.

"He was not yours, Cat. You had no obligation nor duty to him."

"Neither did I have to despise him every moment I could. Family, Duty, Honor, I betrayed everything our family stands for." She wiped the tears from her cheeks remembered how scared Jon was in her lap. "I am the worst woman in the world." Her words were spoken with pure honesty and her father knew that.

"There are far worse than you Cat." Her father stood from her side and paced around the room and ran his fingers through his hair. "Your prayer for such an act is a shame that I wish you had not done. A child does not deserve to suffer the sins of the father. But the boy is dead, that is something that we cannot change but only move forward from. So how are you going to move on, Cat?"

"I don't know if I can. Before he died, I prayed to the gods again. If they let him live through his fever, I would have been a mother to him, loved him, given him what he had never had. But how can I fulfil such a promise when that chance is lost?"

"You start with accepting that you can't anymore. He has died, but his memory does not have to. I'm no septon, but honoring him in death is not a sin and neither is keeping his memory alive to your children. They did love their brother, didn't they-"

A knock on the door interrupted him and without permission given to enter, Edmure walked inside. "Father, good news. I brought the dispute to swift agreement."

"Swift agreement… what? You dolt, did I say you could enter? And who told you to take my place in the discussion!"

Cat sighed as her father began to berate Edmure, again.

"Father, I fixed it! The Brackens and Blackwoods agreed to my idea." Edmure said proudly.

"And just what was your idea?" Father asked.

"A duel. Each family will pick a champion and the winner would be given the right to claim the truth."

Hoster pinched the bridge of his nose and shuttered in anger. "Get out, boy. I'll be out to fix this."

"But father-"

"Out!" He said firm but quiet as not to disturb Bran. It was a miracle her baby boy was still so quiet during the comotion.

Catelyn stood from the bed and walked up behind her father. "I'm sorry, Cat."

"It's alright. We all have our duties."

"Family before duty, Cat."

"We can talk when your done. No go stop a duel from becoming a war." He turned and hugged her once more before taking his leave.

Cat sat back down on her bed and tried to keep herself strong, but she couldn't. She began to cry many tears into her hands and fell onto her pillows.

* * *

Jon

"Shhh…" Asher whispered to Jon, though it felt pointless given Jon's condition. Asher was doing everything possible to get a better glimpse of Baelgor's sword. The hilt itself was such a rich design. The guard was covered in a scale texture with two fangs at the ends and a silver snake like dragon wrapped itself down the leatherbound handle all the way to the pommel that held two addition fangs and a large orange gem that reflected like fire in the sunlight. There were two more fangs on the hilt, housed at the side of the blade, totaling six in all.

The one thing Jon and Asher could see however was a medallion embedded in the center of the guard. It was covered by the scabbard and Baelgor never unsheathed his sword for them to see it.

Baelgor slept in his bunk while Jon watched Asher tiptoe to the sword. Baelgor's entire sword belt with his dagger included was leaned up against a post of the bunk.

Jon didn't want Asher to do it, but he was curious about the man as much as Asher was. He said he was a Valyrian, meaning he was descended from Valyria where the dragons were. It was when Jon realized this that he remembered the name of the family with a three-headed dragon for a sigil. That ring, the boy and the girl, they were Targaryens, the children of the Mad King.

At first, Jon thought Baelgor to be a Targaryen too given how similar he looked to the children, but his name was Aekylosh. It was a name that Jon never heard of. He knew of other Valyrian descended Houses in Westeros, but Aekylosh was not one of them.

Asher reached his hand out to grab the sword, only inches away. He almost managed to touch the handle but in an instant, Baelgor's arm shot over with lightning speed and grabbed ahold of Asher's, stopping him from touching the sword.

Jon sucked in his breath and froze and Baelgor turned his head with open eyes to both of them. "It's rude to wake a sleeping man." His words were slurred and almost groans. He shoved Asher away and sat up. "But it's unwise to touch a man's sword without consent either."

Asher snorted at that, but Jon didn't understand why though. The point Baelgor was making was very straightforward and very serious.

"We just wanted to see the medallion on it, that's all," Asher said.

"And you didn't think to ask at all?" Baelgor said with one eyebrow raised up as he uncorked his wineskin and took a long drink.

"Well, you haven't been the most sociable person this whole trip. I mean, I've tried to but you're either busy drinking or piss drunk to understand what I'm saying."

Baelgor opened his mouth to object, but merely shrugged and nodded in acceptance. He then grabbed the scabbard and held the handle out to Asher. "Go ahead. Just don't cry to me if you cut something off yourself."

Jon grinned with glee and stepped closer to Asher as he grabbed the sword and pulled it all the way free of the scabbard. They both inspected the medallion and beheld an engraving of a dragon in the middle of a fire.

"What's it a picture of? A dragon getting cooked?" Asher asked.

Baelgor chuckled at that. It was the first time he showed any form of joy to either of them. "I asked my father the same thing when I first got to see it. It's not being cooked. It's dancing in the fire."

Jon couldn't see the dragon to be dancing, he just saw it in the flames. His eyes trailed down the blade of the sword and got excited when he realized the material was the same kind as his father's sword, Ice. He pointed it out to Asher to realized the same thing.

"Valyrian steel?"

"Yep. Only sword my family had after the Doom of Valyria. It's called Fang."

"Gee, I wonder why that is." Asher jested.

Baelgor slid the scabbard over the blade and took Fang back from Asher. "No one likes a wise ass, boy. Now go get me some water." Asher scurried from below deck as ordered, but Jon stayed with Baelgor. He stood silently and waited for Asher to return.

"So, tell me how you got them scars on your chest." Baelgor said.

Jon flinched and locked eyes with the man, shocked that he knew.

"I saw em a few days ago, just didn't believe em." It must have been when Jon had to give his clothes to be washed. But he made sure to cover himself enough when he did. He thought he was alone when he did, but it seemed to not be so. "Thought I was drunk… or drunker… how'd you get them?"

Jon shook his head, refusing to tell, not that he could say so anyways. He was almost out of parchment to write on and charcoal to write with. Besides, he didn't want knowledge of his death spreading around more and more. He trusted Asher but not Baelgor.

Baelgor rummaged through his satchel and pulled out an oakwood smoke pipe a little leather bag of pipeweed. He poured some into the mouth and took a few sips. "Whatever the reason," with a snap of his fingers, a small spark erupted and transformed into a little white flames that lingered on his index finger as he ignited the weed. As soon as the weed had caught, Baelgor flicked his finger and the flame vanished. "You should be fucking dead, boy."

Jon had no thought's coursing through his mind at the moment. He was too much in awe of what he had just witnessed. 'Did… did he just light his own finger on fire?' He took out one of his papers, one of his last few, and immediately wrote down. 'How did you do that?'

"A secret for a secret." Baelgor said as he sat back and continued to smoke. It was a tempting bargain.

Jon wasn't sure. Baelgor's hate for the Red Religion was very clear. If Baelgor knew that he was brought back to life by a Red Priest then what would he do? Or maybe… maybe if Baelgor knew of what Thoros had done then he might not be so angry at them all.

Jon wrote down as little as he needed to to conserve space and material. 'A Red Preest brought me back.' He showed the paper to Baelgor and instead of a bit of anger like usual, Baelgor merely looked at Jon and huffed a laugh at him.

"I've been hearing talk of Honorable Ned Stark's bastard boy getting murdered instead of the king. Never would've thought it was you, boy." He took a long puff of his pipe and blew out a cloud of smoke up to the ceiling and kept his eyes on the smoke. "Tell me, this priest, why did he resurrect you?"

Jon shrugged and shook his head before writing again on his paper. 'Acident.'

Baelgor looked at the answer and rolled his eyes. "So you think you'll find answers in Voltanis? I thought the same thing once. All I found was death. Maybe what you should really look for is someone to teach you to spell."

Jon was getting angry at him, but it was enough of that. It was Baelgor's turn to tell him about the fire. He snapped his fingers and kept pointed to his index.

"I'm sorry, did you really expect me to just tell you? You think I would just because you did and I said I would?"

Jon froze. Did Baelgor just play him to steal his secret? That wasn't fair, it was dishonorable.

"First lesson that you should learn outside of your castle, never tell anyone anything." Baelgor tapped some ashes out of his pipe. "You're too trusting of others. Had you run into anyone else but your friend, they would've played you for everything you're worth with isn't much."

Jon didn't know. Everything was so different outside of the North. There was hardly any trust around. People are killers and liars out here. He began to ask himself certain questions as his worries began to rise. 'Why didn't I try to go home? Why didn't I stay on the ship? Why can't people be good like everyone back home?'

"It's magic, obviously," Baelgor said.

Jon looked back to him, broken out of his thoughts of doubt and anger.

"My family had no dragons that survived the Doom. They both died with their riders. Instead, my family escaped with knowledge of magic." Baelgor sighed, disappointed. "But they were fools from then on. The Valyrian blood thinned out every generation because they didn't breed among themselves. As the magic in the blood thinned out, so did the capacity that we could use it." He took another long puff of his pipe and blew out a thin cloud of smoke through his nose. "Like I said, you're lucky, boy. Anyone else would've used you for everything you're worth."

Jon sat down next to the bunk. He felt so confused about things. He was beginning to question what in seven hells he was doing. He was just a child in a foriegn world. He wasn't going to survive out here once Asher and even Baelgor were gone. He had to get home, somehow.

"Here, take a puff." Baelgor offered his pipe over to Jon. "It'll help calm your nerves."

Jon was slow to take it and a bit undesiring to given how bad the tip smelled. But he would try it to see if it would help. Maybe it would be like how ale and wine make men drunk. He exhaled before putting the tip in and taking a deep breath. The moment the smoke went down his throat, his lungs felt like they were on fire and he coughed and hacked out as much as he could.

Baelgor started chuckling. He knew this would happen.

Jon gave the pipe back and stood to march back up deck. But he felt so dizzy now, whatever that man was smoking he vowed never to do it again.

He rested on the railings of the ship and watched the waves crash into the sides. Sometimes a spray of the sea would almost get him, but it felt cool and refreshing.

Asher came by and leaned back next to him. "They said that we'll be there in about an hour. You can see the city from the helm."

He didn't give Asher any kind of response. He just felt so down in himself, so tired of going places without knowing why he had to.

"When we dock, I'll be leaving straight away. The Company of the Rose is supposed to be on the eastern shores getting ready for a battle against an army of pirates. Just think, I'll get to be part of that battle!" He laughed in excitement.

Jon simply smiled and nodded along. He didn't know anything about the Company of the Rose except what Asher had told him. There wasn't anyone in particular he ever mentioned. No famous knight or warrior of legendary skill like Ser Arthur Dayne or Aemon the Dragonknight.

"You better keep practising your swordsmanship when we part ways." this finally got Jon to look at Asher. "I'm gonna find you again one day and see if you've gotten any better."

Jon gave him a genuine smirk. Now that was something he would look forward to. He held a hand out to Asher and they shook on it. He looked out to where the city was and was shocked at how big it was. It made White Harbor look like a small hamlet in comparison. There were several towers standing taller than any he had ever seen. It looked marvelous from so far away.

One hour came and went by quickly and the ship was finally anchored. While Jon, Asher, and the rest of the passengers waited to disembark, Baelgor found them. "Here we are, as promised. You're on your own from here on out." He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small brown leather bag and tossed it to Jon. The weight of it indicated that there were coins inside. "That'll get you to Volantis." Disembarking had just begun and Baelgor stepped away to get off the ship, but then he stopped and paused for a moment. He turned back to Jon and Asher. "If you feel something isn't right when you get there, do the smart thing and run away."

Jon gulped down and nodded to him. Despite Baelgor's rather rude presence, it didn't feel like he was a bad person.

He walked off the ship with Asher into the harbor. The people were far more diverse than Whiteharbor and Pentos. There were skins and clothes of many colors. Some of the richer men wore jewelry and the richer ones had strong built body guards with them.

Asher helped Jon find the next ship going to Volantis and it wouldn't be until tomorrow morning. Despite the outside look of the city, the inside was a bit more bleak and dreary, at least at the port they were at. There were many mean looking men who smelled rancid.

The two boys of the North made for a more open part of the harbor where there were many eyes watching should anything bad happen.

"You should probably get a room for the night unless you want rats and spiders for company." Asher told him.

Jon felt himself start to shake. He was becoming afraid. He didn't want Asher to leave him alone.

"Listen. This is the only window of opportunity I'll have to get to join the Company of the Rose. You should come with me. You may not find answers, but it sounds a whole lot more safer than risking your life in Volantis."

' _Maybe he's right. Maybe Baelgor was right.'_ Jon's attention was turned to a group of men approaching them, seven to be exact. All of them wore red clothing but only one of them carried no weapon. The unarmed man wore robes of red decorated with orange flames stitched into them. The men with him wore steel helms that covered their faces and armor just as red as the other man's robes. They carried curved swords that had large rubies in the pommels at their sides.

Jon pointed to them and Asher turned to look. Seeing them must have worried him because he moved Jon behind his arm.

The men stopped and the unarmed man in robes bowed down to them. "Emi rōvēgrie rigle naejot rhaenagon ziry qilōni emi ūndegīon isse se perzyssy hen R'hllor. Se valītsos iderennonus ondoso īlva āeksio naejot glaesagon tolī morghon."

"Um… we don't speak that," Asher told them. His nervousness was obviously present in his voice.

The robed man smirked at him. "I understand that you don't. But it would have shamed me to greet the Promised One in anything but High Valyrian." His eyes went straight to Jon. "We had been expecting you in Volantis, but when we heard of the storm that delayed you, we were granted visions of your arrival here. And here you stand before us. Blessed is the Lord of Light for guiding us to you."

' _The Lord of Light. These people are who Thoros sent me to meet,'_ Jon thought.

The priest held his hand out. "Come. We will see you safely to Volantis from here on. There are many things to be learned from you and from us."

Jon felt a great spark of desire flare within him. He could finally learn why he came back to life, why he had to leave home, why all of this was happening. And yet, the desire was held back by a warning Jon felt in his heart. The things Baelgor said gave him doubt.

A large hand grabbed Jon's shoulder from behind and pulled him back as the one attached to it stepped in front of him and Asher.

"What do you plan to do with him?" Baelgor asked.

The mood of the priest immediately changed to shock and the armed men placed their hands on the hilts of their swords. "You. You should have been cleansed by our Lord's fire long ago."

"I prefer to remain the filth that I've always been." Baelgor eyed the armed men carefully and slowly drew Fang from its scabbard. "Both of you get back." He ordered to Jon and Asher.

"Do not listen to him." The priest said. "He is a darkness to the light of our Lord. A murderer of dozens of those who served his holy purpose."

"Would you shut up about your lord? He's nothing but a cunt and an excuse so you can burn others alive. You can't have the boy."

At this point, people all around took noticed and backed away from what would be a bloody sword fight. "He will be the one to lead us through the impending darkness that comes for us, for all of us. You stand between us and the Lord's chosen. Any who do so are deemed the enemy of the Lord of Light. Behold the power the Promised One's revival has brought to the followers of the R'hllor!"

The armed men all drew their swords and ran their hands on the blades. As the blood covered the edges, it all ignited into a fire that engulfed the all of the blades. Everyone watching was either fascinated or intimidated by such magic, even Jon and Asher.

"Behold the blessing of the Lord of Light, behold the flames that will burn through your sins against him!" The priest exclaimed in a glorifying voice with his arms high in the air.

Baelgor, however, smirked at them all. "Neat trick. Unlike you though," without any indication of intent or action, Fang's blade ignited in white flames that outshone the flames of the armed followers of the Lord of Light, "I don't need to spill the blood of children for magic."

Baelgor dodged aside a sword swung at him and moved like a dancer as he spun his body around, carrying Fang and guiding the edge to an exposed neck and relieving his attacker of his head.

He moved so fast and swift, it was incredible, like it was all a form practised over and over again. He fought the other five soldiers with fiery swords and killed them all without breaking a sweat.

Baelgor drove Fang's flaming blade into the robed man's stomach and pushed it as deep as he could get it to the hilt. "Tell me, priest, do you feel release in your loins when the flames burn your innards? Do you grow ravenously hungry when the scent of cooked flesh fills your lungs? Do you dance to the sounds of innocents screaming as you burn them alive!?"

Fang was withdrawn and quickly slashed across the priest's neck, decapitating him and burning the wound instantly. The white flames disperse before Baelgor sheathed Fang into its scabbard.

The sounds of many men in plate armor could be heard marching and it was getting close.

Baelgor turned to Jon and Asher and grabbed both of them by the shoulders and forced them to go with him into the city. They didn't stop moving, in fact they were at a brisk pace going deeper into the city.

Jon didn't pay attention to anything that was around, not the change of the architecture, nor how the people dressed differently, not even the strange animals that he had never seen before. All he could think about was what was going to happen when they stopped walking.

They came to a great set of doors that were the gates of the city. The passed through without any attention brought their way and went straight on to the large hillside that was the surrounding lands.

When they finally stopped, they were probably on the highest point of the whole island. When Jon looked east, he thought he could see the other side of it.

Baelgor was pacing back and forth while running his hands through his hair. He kept muttering something that sounded like what the priest was saying, high Valyrian.

"What was that about? Why did you kill them?" Ashere demanded but received no answer. Frustrated, he spat in Baelgor's direction and faced Jon. "Enough of this. We're using our coin to get you home. This place is nothing but trouble."

"You can't go home." Baelgor said. "They know who you are and where you're from. They'll be watching every port and road for you. If you were someone else they wouldn't try so hard… fuck! Why did you have to be it?"

"What do you mean?" Asher asked. "I mean I can imagine he's special because he died and came back but… what does it mean?"

Baelgor looked squarely at both of them. "The more you know the worse you'll be."

Asher nearly fell back in disappointment and confusion.

Jon used the last paper he had for his last words until he could get more. 'What do I do?' Or rather what could he do? If the Red Followers were looking for him to be a sacrifice then what could he do? Where could he hide?

"You're staying with me." Baelgor told them both. "I'm not letting them burn another child alive."

"Wait, with you?" Asher asked. "We hardly know you. Give us-"

"You can fuck off to wherever you damn well want to. It's him that's coming with me." Baelgor pointed to Jon as he stared down at Asher before looking at him. "Do not get me wrong, I'm not doing this for you out of the goodness of my heart. I'm doing it so I can kill as many of those fire worshipping cunts as I can. They are evil and I will watch as many of them bleed before I die. No one knows them like me. Armies have surrendered to them for the love of their God, nobles and great masters been brought to poverty and ruin to worship their God. No one else can protect you except for me."

"Jon, don't!" Asher got in front of him did what he could to get his attention away from Baelgor. "He's just a drunk who knows a few tricks. Come with me. We'll join a sellsword company. We can make friends who can fight with us if you're found!"

"Ha! The only friends sellswords have are gold and silver. If they can make more, they will sell you out faster than you can harden in front of a whore." Baelgor finally calmed down and drew his knife and held the blade to his palm. "I swear by oath and blood, I will never betray you. I will protect you if you come with me."

Jon looked between the two of them, unsure of who to trust. Maybe Baelgor was wrong about what he said. But then again… Jon had been proven wrong about everything he thought he knew when he came here.

He looked to Baelgor and nodded, accepting his offer.

Baelgor ran the blade over his skin and his blood dripped into the dry grass. He began speaking in a High Valyrian again. The blood in Baelgor's hand ignited in white flames for three seconds before extinguishing.

"It is done." He stood up and looked in all directions. "We'll be going north to get to the mainland and further east, to the ruined cities bordering the Dothraki sea."

"Wait," Asher said, "I'm coming with you. Where he goes, I'm going to too."

"No, you're dead weight."

"I think I'm very much alive weight."

Jon walked up to Baelgor and tried to do his best to gesture with his hands for Asher to follow them. He wanted to still have a friend through what was to come and Asher was the only thing he had that was a reminder of his old life in the North.

Baelgor sighed as if he was terribly exhausted. "You pull your own weight, you got that, boy?"

"Aye, I do. Just give me an axe, a knife, and I can survive on my own. Done it before with my big brother. We camped for two entire moon turns-"

"Get your own axe and knife. Now come on." He began walking down the hill but stopped abruptly and turned back to the two boys. "The followers of R'hllor will be looking for two boys. Once your skin tans from the sun that will help but… you'll both need new names."

New names? But they never told them to any of the priests. Thoros probably did in his message but he never knew about Asher.

"You, blondey, where are you from?" Balegor pointed to Asher.

"The Nor-"

"I mean what castle?" Baelgor cut in, clearly frustrated.

Asher straightened himself as he stared down the Valyrian man. "Ironrath."

"Right, your name is Vedros."

"Vedros?"

"High Valyrian for Wrath. And you, Jon Snow... shall be Morghon. A rather fitting name. It's a term that can mean several things, one of them being 'the Ghost', for only ghosts have seen death and still haunt this world."

* * *

 **If you want to see what Fang looks like, I posted a link on this chapter on Archive of Our Own.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Alright! Next chapter is out. I'm going to aim for weekly updates. That being said, the next update has the chance of being a week late due to accessability. Also, I AM IN DIRE NEED OF A BETA! Please message me if interested.**

 **One more thing, I cannot post artworks on this website but I can on Archive Of Our Own. If you go check it out, you'll find my art for Fang, Baelgor's sword.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Eddard

Despite her quiet and collective mood, Wylla was a hardworking woman and tended to Howland quite well. Had she been a man, Eddard would've thought her to be a maester. She kept to herself about where she learned to be healer and almost about everything else. What she did reveal was that she was from Volantis and that she served the Targaryens and the one true king. She tended to the fire while Howland relaxed as best as he could. The cut Ser Arthur dealt him went through three of his ribs and it disabled him from hard riding. It would be another day before they reached Starfall.

Eddard rocked little Aemon in his arms to calm him from crying as best he could. Lyanna's boy had been quite the silent babe for most of the time but ever since they left the Tower he had been full of tears. But Eddard felt that the tears were of longing for Lyanna. Aemon fed from Wylla willingly and she was able to handle him far better than Howland or Eddard could.

"Robert won't let him live." Howland said painfully. "No matter how much you try to convince him not to, he will kill the baby."

Ned have been giving it much thought long before Howland had. Lyanna's final words were the same thing. "As long as Rhaegar Targaryen was the father, Aemon would never be safe." Ned told both of them. "So after tonight, it will no longer be so. I will claim him as my bastard."

Both Wylla and Howland looked at him squarely. "Are you sure that will work?" Howland asked. "You're Ned Stark, a man who would never stain his honor or break an oath."

"Which is why everyone will believe it. I will be admitting my sins and who would doubt me for doing it?"

Howland sighed as he slowly layed back on the soft grass as the fire continued to snap and crack. "It just might work." He groaned out from his pains. "But I don't think Aemon will be the best name for him."

"Obviously, you idiot." Wylla spat as she checked his bandages. "The Lady said that she wanted to name him Torrhen if it was a boy, but she chose a Targaryen name in love of her husband."

Ned looked down at Aemon in his arms. He had gone quiet and was finally asleep. He certainly didn't look like a Torrhen and it wasn't a name he would choose. Maybe he would call the boy Rickard in memory of his father… no, Aemon didn't look like a Rickard. He didn't look like a Brandon either.

Ned thought of Jon Arryn, the one who raised him into a man and went to war to protect him.

"He'll be called Jon, Jon Snow." There was a deaf silence that followed. "Howland?" Eddard looked up and saw that Howland and Wyla were both gone. And not just them, but the fire, the Red Mountains, they were all gone and instead Eddard was holding Aemon underneath the weirwood in Winterfell godswood.

There was freshly fallen snow all around and the air was hauntingly cold. There was no noise, not the chirping of birds nor the sounds of the people echoing from the castle.

The pool in front of the weirwood began to ripple singularly in a steady beat, like a beating drum. He stood up and walked to the edge, peering over to see his own reflection. He was much older, out of his armor and into lordly clothes his father or Brandon would wear. And in his arms was Jon, a child grown now. Only instead of sleeping, Jon was limp in his arms, bleeding from the stab wounds in his chest.

The dream would always end there before Ned's eyes fluttered awake. The cold was gone and instantly replaced by Cat's warmth as she lay in his arms.

Eddard slowly crawled out of bed, trying not to disturb his wife. He looked to window to see morning light beginning to peer through. He walked over to the window and stared outside. Yesterday's rain turned to frost during the night but it would disappear in an hour or less from now. Mikken's forge was already lit and his hammer was striking hard at steel. Farlan was getting the hounds ready and some of the women were just leaving for Wintertown.

"Ned?" Cat asked. He turned and saw her sitting up with the fur covers pulled over. "You had the dream again, didn't you?"

He silently nodded.

She frowned sadly and rose out of bed. She wrapped her arms around and held him warmly. "It's not your fault."

"I know." He just couldn't accept it yet. He could have done better, should have done better. "Today's the day."

Cat nodded and pulled back. "Do you want to have it done before or after the princess arrives?"

"Before." They didn't need to interrupt hosting the Royal Party nor involve them.

Eddard and Catelyn shared a warm bath and dressed in their finest. Eddard felt like he combed his hair a hundred times before tying it back. His leathers were newly made and stitched by his wife herself. They were probably close to being as neat and fine as Lord Manderly's wardrobe. Before leaving the room, he glanced over to the stone floor piece that hid the dagger underneath as well as the thing Lyanna had left for her son. He took out the knife a few times but he never used it.

As he walked through the hallways with Cat, they came upon Sansa at Arya's door. Their eldest daughter was already dressed and ready just as they were.

"Arya, please open the door!" Sansa called through.

"No!" The little voice shouted back.

"Sansa," Catleyn said.

Their daughter turned when her parents made themselves aware. "She's had another nightmare."

Arya had made it quite known that she suffered nightmares just as her father did. Ned tried to speak with her as did Catelyn but Arya wouldn't say much. She was suffering from the lack of sleep and she wasn't old enough to be given essence of nightshade for help.

Ned walked up to the door and knocked lightly. "Arya," he said calmly, "may I enter please?" There wasn't a response, only silence. He turned to his wife and daughter. "I'll take care of this. You two go on." Catelyn proceed to lead Sansa down the hall to break their fast as Ned sat down at the door and knocked again. "Arya… can I help you somehow? Please?"

"Go away." She said harsh but calm.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. I'm not leaving while a child of mine is in suffering."

"Then figure out how I don't need sleep!" She cried and started to sobb. "I can't sleep… I'm so scared to."

"What is it that scares you?" He only heard her crying continue. "If I tell you my of my nightmares, will you tell me yours?"

He heard a sniffle pausing the crying. "Grownups don't have nightmares."

"Who told you that?"

"Jeyne Poole." Arya replied.

"Well as a grownup, I can assure you that we do. We might not be as scared of them but we do. I have dreams of war sometimes. The men I once knew that died around me in battle. But I've had the same one for years now, maybe just as long as you have been having yours."

There was only the whispers of sniffles and tears being shed. "What happens?"

"I dream of a day long ago, before you were born. I dream of my sister in a bed of blood and winter roses. And then I see someone else I love gone from the world too. Someone I couldn't save."

A few silent seconds passed before the lock of the door clicked and opened. Ned saw Arya appear with reddened eyes and dark spots under them. She took his hand and led him over to her bed where they sat down.

"I see a monster all in black. His claws are sharp as daggers and he hurts mothers many times. Then a knight appears to save us. But… he can't do it. He gets killed protecting us. That's when I wake up." Tears resumed streaking down her face.

Ned took his daughter into his arms and held her softly. "Shh…" He finally understood the cause of her dream now that he knew of it. Even though she couldn't consciously remember that part of her life, the memories of the night Jon was murdered stayed in the recesses of her mind. "Dreams can be terrifying because they are beyond our control."

"But what can I do? I don't want to be afraid anymore!"

"Nor do I. You can try to hide and run but it won't go away until you try to face it."

Arya began to calm down. "Face it?"

Ned nodded. "Without fear, there cannot be bravery. If you can find the courage to face the terrors in your dreams, they may not go away, but you will wake up proud that you stood tall in such a place."

Arya looked up to him and squeezed her arms around his body. "Can I sleep with you and mother tonight?"

"Of course. If your dreams come again, I will be there to keep you safe. And If mine come too, you'll be there to keep me safe, won't you?"

Arya nodded with half a smile and wiped away her tears.

"Now come on. It's time to get up and ready. Or do I need Old Nan and Septa Mordane to come in here to tell you.

"Ugh, no!"

"Then you best hurry!" Ned tickled her into laughter and finally released Arya when she submitted. "Don't be too long now, alright?"

"Yes, father."

Ned left with a smile on his face as he joined the rest of his family in the Great Hall. Robb was already half done with his meal as was Theon. Bran had drippings of honey and bread crumbs all around his mouth as he sloppily ate his food.

Eddard took his seat next to Cat who looked relieved now that he was with them. "She'll be alright." He hoped. The dreams probably wouldn't stop for a while. All he could do was help her prepare for them and to be there for her.

He waited for Arya to arrive and ate with her while everyone else left. Catelyn went to care for little Rickon while the boys went with Sansa to wait.

Eddard shared his bacon with Arya and they had a moment to see who could eat their food the fastest. He almost choked on his eggs, giving Arya to opening to jump ahead and finish first. Although, she did have fewer portions on her plate than he.

With breakfast eaten and his children dressed, Ned joined his family as they journeyed down into the darkness of the crypts. Candles had been lit along the hallway leading to the tomb.

The stonemasons finished the statue after two years of work. It was difficult to get the similarities as close as they could be. Jon wasn't in the early tapestry of the Stark family that hung in the hallway. There were still some features that Ned knew were wrong but he couldn't describe how. Jon carried no sword and no direwolf was next to him, but he was next to his mother where he belonged.

The children each took a turn lighting a candle before Ned and Catelyn took theirs. They all placed their candles at the feet of the statue.

Catelyn presented the new garland of winter roses she made with Sansa this year and laid it in the middle of the candles.

Robb decided to have the first turn to say some words. "Guess what, Jon? Today's the day the princess is gonna get here. It feels a bit weird though, there're too many girls in this castle already. But Dom's coming too. He's coming from Barrowton. I think you two would have been better friends."

Sansa decided to have her turn after him. But instead of talking out loud, she leaned over to the statue and cupped her mouth to his ear to whisper. When she pulled back, she had a little smile on her face.

Arya never said anything. She couldn't remember anything about her half brother. It was a shame given how much she liked to trail behind him as a toddler.

There was a calm silence that was kept for a time for respect. Sometimes Ned felt like he could hear the voices of his father, brother, and sister speaking to him, but he could never hear Jon.

"Come on now," Ned said, "The princess will be here soon. Make sure everything's ready for her and the Queen to see." Robb led his siblings out of the crypt while Ned and Cat stayed for just a moment longer.

Ned never said anything. He didn't feel that a man who could not keep his greatest promise had the worthiness to. Instead, he silently vowed in every moment that he would find out who sent the assassin.

* * *

Jaime

He never liked the North. It was too damn quiet and felt so poor compared to the south. How could the Starks rule the kingdoms bigger than the other six combined and yet be only the fourth most powerful House in Westeros? They were so settled on living through winter that they didn't think to try and live a bit wealthily as well. Father even sent some of his best miners here to scout the mountains for possible mines. They reported several locations with great promise and yet it was all untouched. As for why he sent them though, that had remained a mystery to all of Tywin's children.

And even when there wasn't any snow and the sun was shining in a clear sky, it still felt cold. As the company of Lannister and Baratheon knights escorting Cersei and Myrcella's wheelhouse rode through a grove of trees that the King'sroad went through, birds were singing and there were a few doe and stag grazing among the trees. It felt like autumn more than it did spring.

Jaime kept his horse at the right of the Wheelhouse while Ser Arys Oakheart rode at the left. Had Tommen been a few years older than four and given permission by Robert then he would have joined the party escorting Myrcella to Winterfell. But the young prince had to remain in King's Landing with his brother and father. It would be dull given Joffrey's vile moods and temper as of late. But Tyrion was kind enough to come from Casterly Rock and keep his youngest nephew company.

It was still too soon for the princess. First a betrothal and now she would be another ward in Winterfell until the wedding which would happen in King's Landing when Myrcella has her first moonblood. Cersei had been absolutely furious at the King but after three days she let Jaime soothe her pains.

"Uncle!" Myrcella chirped through the open window and pointed up into the trees. "It's a bird's nest!"

Jaime looked over and saw a bluejay mother feeding her young. "That's much prettier than the pigeons in the Red Keep. Lord Stark better be sure to keep any out of Winterfell or I'll send a flock of them into his bedchambers." he teased, earning a giggle from the princess.

"Are we almost there?" Myrcella asked.

"Less than an hour away, princess. Didn't you see the castle from the hilltop?"

"No. Mother was talking about… lady things."

"Oh... well, yes, you better listen to her first then. You'll be able to see it once we're clear of these trees." It wouldn't be much longer. They were maybe three miles away by now.

"Uncle?" Myrcella asked.

"Yes, princess?"

"Do you think Lord Stark will like me?"

"If he doesn't, I'll be sure to give him more than a bedchamber full of pigeons." He chuckled. Despite his hate and resentment for Ned Stark, he was the most honorable man in Westeros despite being an oathbreaker secretively. "But I think he will. What you need to be worried about is if his son will like you."

"Mother says he might not. He says that he's probably already seen a woman's parts and touched them even!"

"Myrcella!" Cersei playfully hissed. Her words were probably a jest to the princess but knowing her they may have been implied to be true.

"Well, I think if he doesn't then he will be wrong. Who would not like the prettiest girl in all of Westeros and Essos combined?"

Myrcella grew a little shade of red as she smiled at him. Cersei had the rest of her company for the remainder of the journey.

The castle was still as dreary and brooding as it was five years ago. When the riding party entered under the portcullis they were met by the entire Stark household with Eddard Stark and his wife at the front and their children all in a row. It looks like they spawned another pup since the last time. Lady Stark held her babe in her arms herself rather than have a wetnurse do it. The boy was probably just a year old and just as red haired as his mother and sister. Theon Greyjoy stood behind with the Castle's Master-at-Arms, Ser… Riddick, Rickard?

From what he could remember, the Stark children had not changed much disregarding their height, but the eldest boy's hair had darkened since Jaime last saw him.

Jaime dismounted his horse and stood with Ser Arys at the wheelhouse while a servant stepped forward and opened the doors.

Cersei was the first to exit and all of the Northerners fell down to one knee. Princess Myrcella stepped out after and Robb Stark peaked his head up to steal a glance.

Cersei lifted the hems of her dress to avoid the dirt beneath her as she strode forward to Ned Stark. "Rise," she commands and all who knelt rose to her authority. "Lord Stark, thank you for having us." She stretched her hand forth and let Ned Stark take and lay a kiss on her knuckles.

"Your Grace, it is an honor to have you and the princess. The courtesies and privileges of Winterfell are yours." His voice had changed since the last time. It was deeper and more coarse than before. But also the look in his eyes. Even though he smiled sincerely there was still a brooding sadness behind Ned Stark's eyes.

"Allow me to introduce my daughter, Princess Myrcella Baratheon." Cersei opened her arm and let Myrcella walk forward to meet Lord Stark.

The Princess was shy at first but gave a splendid curtsey. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Stark."

"Welcome to Winterfell, princess." Lord Stark said. "I hope you enjoy your stay here as much as the capital."

"Thank you, my lord," Myrcella replied.

Lord Stark looked down the row and children and cocked his head back, silently telling his eldest to come forward. He placed a had on the boy's shoulder as he stood him face to face with the princess. They stood at an equal height which meant the boy had yet to hit his growth spurt.

"This is my son, Robb."

Jaime felt his left hand unconsciously tighten on the lion pommel of his sword as the boy bowed and smiled politely. He could tell that Ned Stark's welp of a boy was most definitely green when it came to girls.

"It is wonderful to meet you," Myrcella told him as she offered her hand. The boy deeply reddened in the face as he took and kissed it quickly. Some of the men around chuckled lightly at the scene.

"Come," Lord Stark said, "We shall have you all settled with rooms and supper waiting."

The Baratheon and Lannister guards were brought to the Barracks of Winterfell but some chose to ride back to the small settlement outside of the castle. Jaime knew it wasn't for better accommodations at the in, but closer proximity to the only brothel for more than a hundred miles around.

He and Ser Arys were given a shared room for now but only one of them would be using it at a time while the other took his shift watching over the Queen and the princess. After about an hour, the two Kingsguard joined the rest of the escort in the Great Hall for a small feast and to partake in the guest rights.

After eating his piece of bread and salt, Jaime was offered a place with Cersei and Myrcella but refused politely. Instead, he ate near the fire of the hearth with some of his father's men. He would occasionally glance up to the table and see Myrcella chatting with Stark's two girls. The younger looked bored but also just as brooding as her father. But the red-haired girl giggles and spoke often with Myrcella. They would be friends, good.

Myrcella was happy for now. The fact that she was able to be in such a boisterous setting was a miracle. Although Robert's constant mood as of late could be considered equal and a warm-up for this type of living.

Robert had taken a strange turn a few years back. He didn't drink or feast as he often used to and he rarely took to a whore's company. At first glance, it was like he was becoming more like his best friend but up close it was far from that. Robert had been stricken with strange mood swings. One moment he would be as he was and then next he would be looking for his hammer or anything he could use to break something.

Jaime continued to eat his food and drink the ale that was served. He liked the ale at least. It had a far greater kick and better taste than wines did. Perhaps he would take a barrel back with him for Tyrion as a thank you for spending time with Tommen.

While he ate, he did not notice when Lord Stark came and sat down across from him. "Ser Jaime," he greeted.

"Ah, Lord Stark," Jaime replied. "Wonderful taste in decorations and foods. Nothing like what the Red Keep has to offer. It doesn't smell of shit or perfumes." He spoke honestly but kept his tone snarky towards the man who called him Oathbreaker and Kingslayer without even asking why.

"My bannermen from the mountains told me that some of your father's men were found up there. Care to tell me why?"

Jaime shook his head. "Not a clue. He rarely speaks to me these days. Perhaps you would be better off asking the Queen."

"She had the same answer," Eddard replied. "I do not mind that people of the south travel to the North. But I grow concerned when they trespass on my bannerman's lands and commit crimes. Your father's men had beaten and raped a pair of young women. By the time Lord Wull could answer to it, the men were gone and the women dead."

Jaime set his fork and knife down and leaned on his elbows. "Do be sure to send a raven to my father of your grievances. He won't allow such dishonorable acts go unpunished, I promise you that."

Ned Stark continued to stare coldly at Jaime for a moment of silence between the two of them. "I already have and do not doubt that he will. He's not the kind of man to let foolish acts disrespect him, is he?"

Jaime forced a small smile of agreement. "No, he is not. A Lannister always pays his debts."

Lord Stark reached down to his pockets and revealed a scroll marked with the seal of the King's Hand. "This is one of two that arrived this morning before you arrived. This one is for you." He set it down in front of Jaime and left him alone.

Jaime took the scroll and broke the seal. He didn't notice when Cersei had come and taken Ned Stark's place.

"What is it?" Cersei asked.

Jaime grimaced as he saw what was written on the scroll. But at the same time, he felt a bit of joy. "By the King's command, I am to remain in Winterfell to keep a vigil guard over the Princess Myrcella until she is wedded to Lord Stark's heir."

"What? No, it was supposed to be Ser Arys." Her tone began to show a bit of fury. She looked around and could see that even though they were given some space, they were in too close of proximity. She stood from her seat and Jaime followed her out of the Great Hall and into a private corridor. "You don't belong in this country as much as Myrcella does. It's nothing but a wasteland filled with barbarians. It's no better than a pig sty." Her ranting was getting a bit annoying. "She should have gone to Casterly Rock. Even our imp brother would have been better."

Jaime still had the scroll in his hands. It was signed by Jon Arryn and Robert which meant that it was already done. As a Kingguard, Jaime had to obey. "It's going to be alright." He pocketed the scroll and took one of her hands in his. Normally they would be careful about showing their affections but this was just an act of brotherly love to everyone else who might stumble upon them. "As much as I don't want to stay either, this will be good. Who do you trust more to keep Myrcella safe, Ser Arys or me?"

Cersei's fiery temper died down moments later and she hung her head dead a little. "You. Above anyone else, you."

Jaime released his grip on her hands. "I swear to you that I will never let any harm come to her as long as I am her protector." He pulled her into the warmth of his arms and held her softly. "I will not let any harm befall on our daughter." He whispered. "Come one, our absence will be noticed if we're gone for too long."

The feast ended soon after. Jaime decided to get some rest as quick as he could. Tomorrow he and Cersei would break the news to Myrcella and Ser Arys before relieving the knight of his shift.

At breakfast, they joined the Starks for some eggs and roasted potatoes. At this point, Jaime finally found something he enjoyed about the north. After one plate of some of the best eggs he had in his entire life, he had fill and was quite satisfied.

"Your grace," Lady Stark said, "would it be too prudent to enquire of the King's raven?"

"No," Cersei replied, "in fact we were going to discuss it after we finished eating. It didn't feel like the best table conversation material."

Jaime shrugged at her as he had a drink of water. "Might as well get it over with."

Myrcella looked between the two of them. "What are you talking about?"

Jaime stood from his seat and all eyes were on him. "There has been a change of plan. Instead of Ser Arys staying in the North as your guard, it will be me." Myrcella brightened when she heard the news while a few of the Starks did their best to hide their grimaces. Damn pigs.

"Despite the irregular and sudden notice," Ned Stark said, "I've already seen to it that the changes of accommodations have been prepared."

"This is wonderful!" Myrcella chirped. "I'm glad you'll be staying with me uncle."

Jaime nodded with a smile, trying to keep himself as presenting as a knight should be. "As am I, princess."

"My lord, forgive the intrusion, but a farmer arrived and reports that thieves and poachers are terrorizing the hamlet he is from. From what he said, there are at least twenty men and they have already killed some of the other farmers."

Ned Stark nodded and rose from his seat. "Ready my horse and gather a hundred men. We ride out as soon as possible. Your grace, I ask a thousand pardons for leaving abruptly."

"There is no need, my lord." Cersei replied with that devilish smirk she had. "I would never be insulted by a man taking action to personally to protect his people. I wish you luck and grant you twenty of my men to join you."

"Thank you ,your grace. They shall not be wasted."

"Father," Robb Stark said, "let me come with you. I'm as good as the rest of the men here."

There was a momentary pause before Ned Stark shook his head. "I trust that you are which is why you'll remain here to protect your mother and your siblings. Until I return, you'll be acting Lord of Winterfell."

There was clear surprise on the boy's face. "Lord of…"

"It's time for you to rule without my guidance. I have faith in your judgement. Jory, have my armor ready. Rodrick, bring Theon."

The Greyjoy boy wore a snobbish smirk as he got from the table and went with the old man.

Before Lord Stark went for the door, his wife got up from her seat and rushed over to him. "Be safe, my love." She gave a chaste kiss on his lips before watching him leave.

"Lady Stark," Cersei said, gaining everyone's attention, "I have had my full and wish to see the grounds with my daughter. Would you and her intended be kind enough to show us?"

The Lady of Winterfell was quick to regain her regal composure. "Absolutely, your grace. Robb, come join us."

The boy nodded and left with Cersei and Myrcella, leaving his siblings at the table.

Ser Arys got up in full armor and followed after them. He still had an hour left for his shift. He looked dreadfully tired but an hour was an hour. And while Cersei had Lady Stark's attention, no one would be minding Jaime as he looked around for places that were isolated and private.

The first place he scouted was the godswood. It was a dreary place far too quiet, a perfect match for the surrounding land. Pines, maples, and oaks grew tall and over each other. The size of the godswood itself was almost equal to the space the castle took. In the center was a broken tower. It was a giant ruin of a place that was withering away. The cobblestone pieces were loose and the mortar turning to dust. But inside it was strangely warm and on the third floor there was enough space to relax and find peace and quiet. Yes, this would do perfectly.

Jaime climbed down the steps and left the tower to go change. He wouldn't dress in his full suit of gilded steel armor, but he would arm himself with his sword and dagger. That was enough and suitable given the current number of the King's force's at the castle.

As he walked under the looming branches of the weirwood tree, there was a snap of a twig from above. Jaime looked up and saw the second eldest Stark boy climbing in the branches of the tree. He wasn't that high up, but the branch he grabbed onto was just a twig and easily snapped off. The boy slipped off and fell from the branches screaming.

Jaime rushed under in time and caught the foolish boy in his arms. "Careful, little Stark," He told the boy before setting him on his feet.

He nodded and remained quiet.

"What's your name?" Jaime asked.

"Brandon Stark, but my brother and my sisters call me Bran."

There was a slight tense that went throughout Jaime. So this was the boy named for the late Brandon the Wild Wolf. They looked nothing like each other. This boy was skinny and red haired whereas his uncle was a muscled warrior and actually looked like a Stark. "Bran, do you like to climb?"

The boy nodded eagerly with an excited smile.

"Then you should do it somewhere else. If you fell from the trees and hurt yourself, you'd be too far away for anyone to hear you call for help. Next time, you won't be lucky enough to have a good knight like myself catch you." The little boy gulped and looked scared of Jaime's warning. "Tell me, do you know who you're named after after?"

"Uh… my uncle. Father doesn't talk about him much."

Of course Ned Stark wouldn't. Ned Stark the Quiet Wolf. If he were anything more then maybe he wouldn't have let his bastard die. "I met him a few times, you know. Did your father ever tell about how good a fighter he was? He was almost as good with a sword as I am."

"Father said no one could beat my uncle." The boy pouted. He was set on defending his honorable father's word.

"Really? He never told you how he was beaten in King's Landing when he stormed the Red Keep? How his rashness got his friends killed?" The boy went ghostly silent. "If I recall, I slew some knight who was a Mallister. It was Ser Gerold who disarmed your uncle at the Mad King's feet. Do you know what happened when your grandfather came to plead for his son's life?"

Bran stepped backwards before completely running away on the verge of tears. It didn't take much to upset him. Now he would probably be told a bit more of the death of Brandon and Rickard Stark. No doubt he would also be told about how Jaime earned the name Oathbreaker.

It didn't matter. Nobody cared for truth or reasons why, only what they saw. Every time they looked at Jaime with those eyes that judged him, he didn't care. Who were they to judge a man who saved a million people and avenged the murders of hundreds of innocents that burned at the feet of the Iron Throne? Who was Ned Stark to call him Oathbreaker when he hid a child of Rhaegar Targaryen from his King and friend?

Jaime returned to his room and changed out of his morning clothes and into some fine leathers his father had sent him last year. Instead of red like his Lord father's or Tyrion's clothes would have, Jaime's shirt was golden with seams of white and silver and a white lion's head stitched over his left breast.

As he did his belt and sheathed his golden sword into its scabbard, Ser Arys arrives to be relieved. He was exhausted no doubt and there were hints of dark colorings under his eyes.

"I'll see you at dinner." Jaime said as he took his leave for his shift. He found Cersei with Lady Stark on the balconies overlooking the training yards. Down below, Robb Stark was red faced as he walked with Myrcella and their arms were linked.

Cersei noticed Jaime's approach and gave a ghost of a smirk. She always did that when he appeared to her. Lady Stark also noticed and instantly went from pleasant to silent anger.

"Ser Jaime," Lady Stark said coldly, "while you will be living under the roof and care of my House, you will show restraint to what you say to my children. Kingsguard or not."

"Apologies, my lady. I didn't think such history was premature to teach a seven year old."

"My son is six years, not seven. And he does not need to hear the tragedy of his uncle and grandfather so morbidly."

"Then I will leave such tale to someone who wasn't there."

"Lady Stark," Cersei interrupted, "I would have some time alone with my brother. Given the sudden notice, I will not be leaving one, but two of my family here and I will not see them for what feels like an eternity to come. I would have us be undisturbed until my say so."

Catelyn Stark gave Cersei a courtly smile just like many other of the women at court, only hers was better. "Of course, your grace." She curtsied but gave Jaime a quick cold glare before excusing herself to her children.

"I think she likes me," Jaime teased.

"You're an idiot, scaring the boy like that."

"You mean tell him what his father won't?"

"He's just a boy, Jaime."

He leaned back against the railing and grinned at her. "For someone who hates the Starks, you seem to care for one."

"I'm the Queen. I need to keep appearances." She scolded but followed it with a smirk. "Come, my dear brother, we have much to discuss."

"Of course, your grace. Might I suggest the godswood? It's a quiet place and uncrowded." He glanced over the courtyard again and gave a last look to the Stark children. Sansa Stark was with some of the other girls her age giggling amongst themselves as they were watching her brother and Myrcella talking. Bran was with the other sister and the baby watching some of the young men do drills with wooden swords. That younger sister though, she looked just as tired as Ser Arys did, maybe a little bit more.

Cersei walked gracefully next to him as the made for the godswood and didn't hesitate to speak her mind. "I don't want her here. She deserved the Red Keep and all of it's riches, not this oversized stone hutt."

"You're the Queen. All you have to do is say so and she will go back home with you."

She scoffed at him mockingly and rolled her eyes. "Defying my husband is probably what made him put you here as well." She started to giggle to herself and tried to hide it.

"What is it?"

"You should have been there to see what he did to cousin Lancel. Have you ever even heard of a wine fountain?"

"Oh, not that one again. He used that on some Frey boy squiring for some drunken knight at the last tourney." Jaime laughed with her as they entered into the sacred grounds of the godswood. Cersei looked half disgusted and half unimpressed by the surroundings. "It's so damn dreary. The Starks have no taste in anything."

"Well, maybe Myrcella will change that. She always liked pretty things from the capitol." They made it to the doorways of the broken tower. When they got inside, Jaime brought his lips to hers and remembered how much he hungered for her taste. He stifled a slight moan as the warmth of her lips went to his neck.

"How long will we have?" Cersei asked as she pulled him up to the higher floors.

"I'd say maybe an hour before someone starts to try looking for us." He began undoing his breaches when they got to the third floor and Cersei lifted her gown and pulled down her smallclothes. Until then, she was all his and he was hers, just as it should be.

* * *

Baelgor

If gods existed like fools who prayed believed they did, then today was certainly a gift from them. Clear morning skies with cool breezes to combat the warm sun. The great city of Yunkai standing tall and great as it had for a thousand years. All was perfect for a day of war.

Some Khal had made the declaration to sack the city of it's riches and women a moon's turn ago and in response the benevolent masters hired a faction of the Golden Company to aide in their defence. With the regular army, a battalion of Unsullied, and a quarter of the greatest mercenary company in the world, Yunkai had nearly twenty thousand men standing to defend the gates. However, the Unsullied remained with the masters should the result of the battle be unfavorable for them.

The Golden Company had been foolish to not have brought their elephants, for such a creature was best used in the field. And anyone who knew war knew that no battle could ever be won in an open field against the Dothraki unless a beast as mighty as a war elephant was there.

It wouldn't be long now until the Dothraki Screamers arrived in full charge. Their war cries could barely be heard from the city walls that protected the people within.

"Faster, you twats!" Baelgor ordered. "And don't cock this up like last time!"

"You're the one who got us nearly killed! You were piss drunk!" Vedros retorted. He acted so high and mighty ever since he finally grew a beard that didn't make his chin look like a man's sack.

"Piss drunk and still a better fighter than your sober ass was. Now move it!" The safety of Yunkai had no place for Baelgor and his two underlings. While the people hid in wait of a victor, they would reap the spoils of war before the Dothraki could claim them.

Both of the boys had changed greatly in the past few years. Vedros was still a dumb boy thinking himself a man, but at least he looked like it. Both he and Morghon had tanned under the sun of Essos and their practise had put on a good deal of muscle. Vedros was rather displaying of his arms given how he dressed now.

Morghon was still a short lad. He was starting to grow but it wasn't much. He still kept his black hair long and finally stopped wearing clothes that matched it.

They traveled all over the continent since they fled Tyrosh, from the ruined cities in the Dothraki Sea to the borders of Valyria. He kept training them in combat as they traveled. Both of the boys were better than most with a sword, Vedros especially given his use of axes as well.

They dodged between large rocks imbedded in the hills as close to the battle as they could get without being noticed by either side. Not only was it the best place they could hide for this to work, but it was also the best place to watch. The grey stones came out of the ground like large teeth big enough to swallow an elephant. "Morghon," Baelgor said looking back at the boy, "you hide up front with me. I want to see if you've learned anything. Vedros, you take the higher view in case any scouts are doin' their jobs right."

The smug bastard rolled his eyes at him as Morghon did as he was told. It had been rough with the boy the first year. Adjusting to a new way of life was hard for Morghon and he refused to forget his stupid sense of honor. At least the bastard wasn't wasting money on parchment and writing charcoal any longer.

Morghon taught himself how to speak without written words or a voice. He created his own language using the signs and gestures of his hands. It took awhile for Vedros and Baelgor to understand it and there were still times they didn't know what he meant, but it was efficient and handy in its own way.

Baelgor knelt down behind the cover of the grey stone with Morghon in front of him, both watching the battlefield. The echoes of the Dothraki were just about loud enough that the army would finally reveal itself.

Sure enough, the first of thousands of Dothraki Screamers emerged over a hill in full charge and deathly howling war cries.

"I'd say that's about… maybe ten thousand riders. Their Khal is certainly ballsy, that's for sure. Now, who will win this fight?"

Morghon turned and signed to him. 'It's too one sided. The city army is going to win.'

Baelgor smacked Morghon upside the head, earning a grimace. "Look closer. Don't just look at the numbers, but the terrain, the types of fighters. Try again." He watched as Morgan turned back and looked out to the battle. The Dothraki were nearly upon the Yunkai defense. Their archers had already begun shooting arrows and easily found their marks. Their bows had greater range and strength than any sellsword or soldier used.

Morghon finally responded just as the battle began to start. 'Their attack. So many aimed at one spot breaks through.'

Baelgor rolled his eyes. "No. Did the Unsullied succumb to fifty thousand Dothraki at Qohor?" He told the boys ancient history as stories to shut them up at times but also to teach them.

Morghon looked back, trying to see what he wasn't. He turned again. 'Fear?'

Baelgor smirked at him. "Yes, fear is a powerful weapon. The Dothraki have no trace of it and yet whenever they ride into battle it follows and infects their enemies. It will make the mightiest of shield walls crack and the steadiest of aims miss. But it's not all. Why should twenty thousand fear fewer than half their force?"

Morghon paused for a moment, trying to think of what the answer was. 'I do not know. Sorry.'

"Unity. Yunkai has the larger force but they are not united." He picked up two small stones and one larger one. "Two is the bigger number, but they are not together. Two armies can never compete with one army with one purpose with one true leader." He looked back to the battle as did Morghon. "And this Khal Drogo is certainly proving his might." The Dothraki Horde cleaved into the Yunkai defense and it became a slaughter. The formations and battalions broke apart and were becoming scattered.

A horn suddenly blasted and it brought a smile to Baelgor. "The Golden Company's ordered a retreat. This is our moment. Vedros, Jiōragon aōha gundja va se dīnagon!" He made sure to switch between languages every now and then to make sure they were learning. Morghon was quick to understand High Valyrian while Vedros was better learning Dothraki.

Vedros caught up to Baelgor and Morghon and they rushed down the hill while trying to remain unnoticed. They saw soldiers fleeing and the battle itself had moved off a ways, leaving the dead to be reaped like wheat.

"Vedros, stay closest to the walls. Morghon, go furthest out." Morghon looked back with fear clear on his face. "Don't be scared," Baelgor ordered, "the battle's not coming back. But it is going to end in a few minutes. So move!" He shoved Morghon in the direction he forced and went to loot the dead he had his eyes set on.

The Golden Company always had the best to take. Sellswords lived rich and free while city soldiers were paid a beggar's purse and could be beaten by peasant farmers.

He knelt down to a trio of men and immediately searched their bodies. To his luck, two of them had golden rings with jewels housed in them but the other was barren. Although, after comparing sizes, Baelgor found that the man without jewels had far better boots that were close enough to his size.

After exchanging footwear, Baelgor took a moment to enjoy the comfort his new boots had. They were certainly much nicer than his previous ones. He continued to search among the fallen bodies around.

At one point, a hand reached up to him and the man it belonged to was a horrible mess. The man was young, too young, just older than being a boy. His face was ripped apart by an arakh and arrows pierced his belly. A mutated groan came from the man and eyes that begged for a release.

Baelgor sighed and drew his knife. He stabbed the poor bastard in the neck swiftly and in seconds had ended him. "Fucking fool." Before he left, he did a quick scan of the young man and saw that he wore a lovely silver pendant he wouldn't be needing any longer.

After a dozen bodies had been searched and looted afterwards, Baelgor noticed the sounds of death and steel had died down. He glanced over to the fighting and saw the Dothraki Horde raising their weapons in victory. It was time to go. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly to Vedros and Morghon. Seconds later he received a response from Vedros but none from Morghon.

He gave another whistle. "Come on…" Still nothing. "Fuck." Instead of breaking for the rendezvous, he crept over to where he had sent Morghon to search and loot. Had the bastard gone deaf too? He scanned over the area as he got closer but saw sign of Morghon.

A quick but loud whistle was made and Baelgor looked to the source. He noticed struggling on the ground far away. Why the fuck had he gone so far out? It looked like the body Morghon was searching was not completely dead yet.

Baelgor wanted to be pissed off, but he was starting to panic when he saw the Dothraki riding to return and begin their sack on the city. Given how close they were to the gates, they would not go unnoticed once the Dothraki arrived.

He burst into ta sprint and stepped over and on bodies and he ran for Morghon. He could hear the sounds of grunts from an older man and shouts of anger. It was a member of the Golden Company and he was stopping Morghon from both fleeing and drawing his sword.

Baelgor drew his knife and threw it with the best aim he could. The knife landed true and pierced the mercenary in his side. It was enough that he lost grip on Morghon who managed to free himself. But before he left, he made for a greatsword nearby and swiped it off the ground.

"Fucking hells, just leave it!" Morghon ignored his order and ran as fast as they could.

By now, the Dothraki were close enough that they would be able to see Baelgor. As he thought, they did.

Baelgor looked back and saw three riders break away from the horde to chase him and Morghon down. "Keep going you stupid bastard!" He shoved Morghon to move faster before turning to make a stand. He drew Fang from the scabbard and made sure to breathe calmly. Of all times to not be drunk, it had to be now?

With a single thought of command, Fang's blade lit up it the white flames. It didn't faze the Dothraki however as two of them raised up their arakhs and one a whip.

Baelgor took his stance with Fang in one hand. With the other, he snapped his fingers and let sparks ignite into white fire that engulfed his hand. The first rider had an arakh, then the whip wielder was behind, and then the other arakh. He had to time this just right and wait for the right moment.

He felt the beat of his heart pulse into the flames of his magic as he readied to draw blood he never planned to spill today. He saw the first Dothraki lean down the left side of his horse with arakh in hand.

'Now!' Baelgor dodged to the other side and with a clean swing of his flaming sword, cut off the front leg of the Dothraki stallion. In a sheer instant, he threw his engulfed hand forward and released the flames. They sailed the Dothraki carrying the whip and blasted right in his face. As the warrior screamed from the burns and fell off his horse, the last rider had proved to be faster than he looked. His arakh met Fangs blade suddenly and knocked it out of Baelgor's hands.

Baelgor fell back on the ground but scurried to his feet as quickly as possible. "No sword, no knife…" He snapped his fingers for sparks but they did not ignite his hands in white fire. "No magic…" He looked around and picked up the whip that was dropped by the Dothraki he burned. He hadn't the faintest clue how to fight with it as it was intended to be but he didn't have much of a choice.

The Dothraki warrior whose horse he killed was on his feet and greatly angered. The other that he burned was also on his feet fighting the pains of his face and with an arakh drawn.

"Laz kisha vo disse tihat fin et jin zhokwa gech?" Baelgor chided with half an optimistic grin. He at least earned a bit of snickering from the Dothraki. "I guess not."

The two without horses screamed furiously as they charged at him.

Baelgor reacted as best as he could and tightly held the whip like he would a staff. He used the whip parry the arakh's blade before wrapping it around the arm that held it. He maneuvered the Dothraki around forced the man into a knot almost, restraining him from attacking and using him as a shield from his allies. It wasn't going to stop the other two from attacking though.

But instead of attacking, the one on the horse was suddenly hit in the head with an axe thrown at him. The blade imbedded into his skull and he fell off dead. Vedros shouted as he had his sword drawn as was Morghon.

"Fucking fools!" Baelgor reached a hand onto the chin of the Dothraki he had and with a hard twist, snapped his neck. He jumped aside as fell to the ground as the same time as the body he just killed did. The other warrior met steel with Vedros and gave him a hard punch to the face.

Morghon slipped by and stabbed the Dothraki warrior through the chest.

Baelgor quickly glanced back and saw no other Dothraki of the horde coming for them. They had stormed through the gates and the sack was already underway.

"Get on the horses!" Baelgor ordered. He ran to retrieve Fang while Vedros mounted one of the two stallions free of their old riders. With his sword back in the scabbard, Baelgor made for the other horse and saw Morghon standing close to it with the sword he took. "Dammit, I told you to leave it!"

Morghon shook his head angrily and pointed at the blade repeatedly.

"Fucking hells, drop the blade or I will use it to cut your balls o-" He stopped talking when he actually took a look at the blade and saw the ripples in the steel. Fucking hells, the bastard found Valyrian steel, a beautiful piece of it. The hilt was plane, probably a new one. "If you drop that blade I will cut your balls off, you hear?"

Morghon sighed before jumping up onto the stallion. Baelgor climbed on and took the reigns. Both he and Vedros rode away from the battle with their pockets full for once.

"By the way, you owe me a new knife, again." Baelgor said to Morghon. "On the upside, your little stunt rewarded us with two of the best horses any man could ever hope for." They rode hard for the entire day, heading as North as they could get. By nightfall they stopped by a small creek to let the horses drink. Given the size of the party, any fires would attract a large group of slavers.

The moonlight was enough to brighten the space around and the summer nights of the desert were pleasantly cool. Morghon kept watch over the horses while Vedros went to go gather something that could be eaten.

Baelgor was counting all that he had found from the battle. A couple of purses worth more than the gold they had, jewelry, pendants, and a couple of solid gold earrings. All of it would be sold to some back alley dealer. There wasn't anything worth keeping besides the boots he found. But the Valyrian steel sword Morghon found was the greatest prize of all. If only the scabbard was taken as well.

It was a greatsword by size, a hand and a half to be precise. unusual that there wasn't any type of motifs are elaborate design like most other Valyrian steel weapons had. Baelgor inspected it closely and the only thing worth noting was that the handle was wrapped in cured snakeskin rather than leather. But the pommel flickered in the moonlight and hinting something, an image in the center, maybe a jewel.

Baelgor snapped a spark on his finger and got a tiny flame ignited. He held it to the pommel and could see that there was an engraving. It looked like a heart with wings.

"A heart with wings…" he flicked his finger and extinguish the white flame and stared off into space as he thought. "Damn, who was it… Hersy, no… a heart with… Toyne... Myles Blackheart Toyne." He looked back at the sword and realized the identity of the blade. He didn't know whether or not to smirk or be aghast, so he did both. "Morghon, come here."

The horses were tied to a tree stump before the boy came over.

"Do you know what you found?" Morghon responded by tapping the plane of the blade, indicating the material was Valyrian steel. "Yes, but do you know what sword this is?" The response he got was a shaken head in the shadows. "This is a sword that once belonged to a great king until a foolish descendant of his gave it to a bastard son and caused five rebellions." After a moment, Baelgor could hear a gasp from Morghon. The boy knew. "Congratulations, you are the new owner of Blackfyre." It wasn't until after he said it that he became worried. "You should get something to wrap it with if you don't want someone to steal it the first chance they see it." He gave the sword to Morghon and sent him off.

He sat back on against a rock he used as a pillow and pondered this reunion. He clutched at his shirt and what was hidden underneath around his neck. He knew that there were no coincidences in this world, so how did the sword find its way back to the ring?

* * *

 **What do you think of that?**

 **Just in case you missed it, 5 years have passed since Chapter 11. This is the first major time skip of two.**

 **Translations**

 **-Jiōragon aōha gundja va se dīnagon = Get your ass on the move**

 **-Laz kisha vo disse tihat fin et jin zhokwa gech = Could we not just see who has the bigger cock**


	13. Chapter 13

**As it would be, I am able to get this out on time! But I will say that I wanted this to be better but unfortunately without a beta it is what it is. I hope you enjoy it and what is yet to come!**

 **Character Ages currently**

 **Ned-31**

 **Cat-30**

 **Robb-13**

 **Sansa-10**

 **Arya-7**

 **Bran-6**

 **Rickon-1**

 **Myrcella-10**

 **Theon-14**

 **Domeric-13**

 **Jaime/Cersei-28**

 **Baelgor-33**

 **Vedros/Asher-18**

 **Morghon/Jon-13**

* * *

Eddard

At first, everyone believed the pillagers to just be petty thieves or Wildlings. But they proved to be a damn brotherhood of cutthroats who knew what they were doing.

With three hundred men of three Houses combined, no one could find a good trail or trace that could lead to were the brotherhood was hiding.

It was only the second day of the search and yet the men of the North were raided during the night and lost seven men.

To avoid any sneak ups, Ned ordered his small army to retreat from their search and set up camp outside of the Wolfswood in the plains. It was almost getting dark and soon it would be too difficult to distinguish an ally from an enemy in the shadows of night.

He was with the other two lords that answered the call for aid, Lord Rodrick Forrester and Galbart Glover. They stood together just outside the line of trees that became the forest. The trees rose high and loomed overhead, almost as if the trees were watching them with judging eyes.

"We're getting close," Galbart said. "I can feel it."

"Aye," Ned agreed, "but when we get close they'll know it and move on."

"Maybe there's a spy among us." Rodrick suggested. He looked more cold and cross about this whole situation than anyone else. The farmers that had been killed were under his family's watch and protection.

"Perhaps." said Galbart. "We should do a headcount just in case."

Ned began to scratch his beard. This brotherhood was causing more trouble than they should. He deduced that for them to evade and hide so well, they had to know this forest better than those who lived in it.

"I want all of our men to assemble themselves in groups of ten and stay together. A rat cannot go unnoticed if he is being watched. Galbart, would you take care of that?"

"At once, My lord." Galbart hastily walked away to take care of the matter as quickly as possible, leaving Ned with Lord Rodrik Forrester. The young lord looked especially grim and had the right to be given that this was all occurring on his family's lands.

Rodrik sighed as he looked out to the forest before them. "If my father were here, this wouldn't have happened. He knew how to protect his forest right."

"You mustn't blame yourself for that, my lord." Ned told him. "You have done good work for your people at so young and this is the first time in years that we've had to deal with this sort of trouble." He could tell that lingering on the subject was troubling him. "Has there been any word on your father?"

Rodrik shook his head in response. "If he wanted us to know, he would've sent something to let us know. He's probably dead like my brother."

"I don't believe that. Gregor is a strong man."

"I don't consider men cast away their children and then run from home to be strong."

' _If only you knew how much it truly grieved your father, Rodrick. If only you knew how much of himself had been lost.'_ Gegor had confided in Ned years ago when he left. Gregor had been so ashamed of driving his son, Asher away. "You make it sound as if you expect he won't return."

Rodrik opened his mouth to reply, but instead kept silent. He shook and head and turned to leave. "Excuse me, my lord." He walked back to camp while Ned lingered.

It was wrong of him to press the matter. Rodrik Forrester was right in certain regards. Gregor had left nearly two years ago and there hasn't been any word of him or Asher since then.

Ned rejoined his company of men. Ser Rodrik was going through a set of sword movements with Theon and Jory. As a squire, Theon was learning much from Ser Rodrik and was becoming more responsible. But he tended to brag about it to Robb from time to time. Hopefully humility would be learned soon.

He took to his tent and looked over a map of the Wolfswood. He took horn of ale with him and drank lightly. They were in the right area, but they couldn't find where the brotherhood was making camp. There had to be a hideout somewhere, a cave, but where?

Ned sat back in his seat. All of this commotion was feeling too much like he was in a full on war. How could twenty men be causing such a commotion and to what end? The people they've killed were just farmers and commonfolk without much money to be taken.

A sudden chill came over him when the edge of a small blade was brought to his neck from behind and barely touched his skin.

"Shh… anythin' too loud an' you'll be empty of blood before you shit yer' breeches." The man holding the knife to Ned's throat had an accent from the south. "Yer' Ned Stark, yes?"

"Aye," Ned responded calmly. "I'm guessing the brotherhood sent you to kill me."

"Oh yes, but we ain't much of a brotherhood, just a bunch of men who know what their doing. At least we were until this mornin'. However, dependin' on what decision you chose to make tonight will determine if I lift my blade from your neck or dig it in deeper than your cock can go."

Whoever this man was, he certainly wasn't afraid to loose his tongue of fowl words. "And how is it I accomplish the former?" Ned asked.

A free hand reached over him and took his horn of ale. His would be assassin finished what was left and set it back. "We come to an agreement is how. Like I said, until this mornin' everythin' was planned out. Draw out a lord from his pretty castle, kill his men and take 'im hostage for ransom. But this mornin' the one in charge got his throat slit by some fucker who thought he was better suited to lead. Had he not died, I woulda come anyways, 'cept it would be your vassals with a knife to their necks."

"And what is it you want?"

"Gold as I was promised by my deceased leader and freedom to walk from this camp with my head on my shoulders. I know you won't pull a damn trick since your Ned fuckin' Stark."

"If you wish to be free of a headsman's axe then you should just slit my throat and hope no one finds you."

There was a moment of silence before the assassin grabbed firmly on Ned's shoulder. "Fair enough."

Ned felt the sting of the blade for just a second before the trickling of blood. The man behind him was quick and chuckling to himself after. "Didn't even twitch. Your the first to have some real balls on ya." He stepped around Ned and revealed himself. This man looked like he hailed from the Riverlands. His hair was dark brown and the color was the same for his small beard. For an assassin or a reaver, he was rather well dressed, not in the sense of fashion but practicality. "Just a little prick, nothin' to worry about."

Ned raised a hand to where he felt the blood and realized the cut was tiny, hardly a thing to worry about. He immediately reached for the hilt of his sword and drew it halfway before his assassin sheathed his knife.

"You should listen to what I have to offer before you go cutting life and limb. I joined this little get together in promise of coin. I will get it one way or another. So for your life, I want a fat purse. For the 'brotherhood's' location and assisting in the capture or murders and thieves, I want my freedom."

"Without a knife to my neck, your in no position to negotiate."

"I beg to differ. I'm your only chance of finding the men I called colleagues this mornin'. If I die, you'll be searching for months before you find them. How many other people are gonna die before you find them?"

Ned was about to object but then had an epiphany. He looked at this man before him and realized he wasn't like the usual cutthroat, this man was smart, cunning, and exactly the kind of person he hoped to find from this venture. He sheathed his sword back into the scabbard.

"So, do we have a deal then?" He offered his hand out optimistically.

Ned eyed him cautiously. He shook the man's hand but kept a stern face. "Do you have a name?"

"Bronn."

"Bronn. If you do all you promise, I will give what you want. But if you want more, I may have further need of a man like you when this is over." Bronn displayed curiosity on his face rather than a smug look for once. "Now tell me how to catch these brigands."

In one motion, Bronn set a finger down on the map, pointing to a location way off to the side of where they've been searching. "A couple a boys cause ruckus and leave false trails to confuse you. There's a cave over here, that's where we are. You better leave now, cuz by mornin' they're movin' to another spot."

Before the sun rose on the morrow, Lord Rodrik and Lord Galbart had already gotten their men into position. Before noon, Ned was wiping his sword clean of blood from the fool who tried fighting him with just a spiked club.

They had won by sheer overwhelming numbers and surprise. Once they knew where the bandits were hiding, it was just a simple matter of surrounding and entrapping them.

Only a handful surrendered. The rest tried to fight their way out to escape but all died swiftly. The ones who surrendered were already in irons and awaiting their sentence.

Ned had nothing but disgust for these reavers. Men who slaughtered for sport and gold, the same kind that murdered Jon.

The last group of fugitives that should have gone to the Wall were sold into slavery. Given how the number of men swearing the black had grown enormously over the past few years, they weren't as needing of men anymore. Better to take no chances this time. Jory had brought Ice to Ned and he held his ancestral sword firmly. He recited the rights of authority in order to carry out the executions. The moment after he finished, Ice was swung several times and took each head on the first attempt.

The bodies of the bandits were being gathered for disposal and stripped of what they had as repremanse for the damage they caused. Ice was given to Theon to clean when Ned took his leave.

He found Bronn where he said he would be. Bronn was sitting on the rocks next to a creek not far off, cutting off pieces of a green apple with a small knife. He took a piece in his mouth when he saw Ned approaching.

"Well?" Bronn asked.

Ned didn't reply. Instead he pulled out a bag of gold he had prepared last night and tossed it to the sellsword.

Bronn caught it with a gleeful smirk. "You're broodin' now, but just think who else didn't die because of your dealin's with a cutthroat." He set the bag aside and cut out another piece of his apple. "And yet our business isn't concluded."

Ned folded his arms over his chest. "You're not like the regular reavers and criminals we usually arrest. You know what you're doing."

"Took quite a long time to get that good. Now tell me, what would the most honorable man in Westeros want to use a lowlife for?"

"Something I want no one to know about. Not even the Master of Whispers himself." This got Bronn interested. "I don't need a murderer or a thief, I need a spy." He reached behind to his belt and unsheathed the Valyrian steel dagger. He tossed it to Bronn who caught it with surprise when he saw it.

"I didn't know House Stark had a pretty dagger alongside a pretty greatsword."

"We don't. Only a few people know I have that dagger."

"Oh, steal it?"

"That's the blade that was meant for the King but killed my son." Bronn froze for a second when he heard that.

Ned felt his fists tightened. The memory still angered him so. "For five years I have been trying to find out who sent the assassin. But the trails I find are confusing and I can't make any sense of it." If Theon hadn't told him that the dagger was once his uncle's then all of the clues would have identified the Lannisters were behind it. But it didn't fit, they were far too high in society to deal with the likes of Euron Greyjoy. And they were the first to be attacked in the rebellion that followed. He had to be sure it was them before making a wrong move.

"And what do you need me for?" Bronn stood up and offered the knife back to Ned.

He took the dagger and sheathed it back. "I know where to look for answers but I cannot go there. My position keeps me in the North and I am known too well throughout the realms. A cutthroat, however, would be just another face in the crowd."

Bronn looked at him curiously. "It's not a coincidence that you brought that knife, is it?" He had good perception.

"Had I found one of the other men to be better, it would be your head taken instead of theirs."

Bronn fidgeted nervously and his hand went close to his sword. "Well then, you want a spy. I can do that, but it won't be cheap for what you're askin'… Well, it won't be from a common man's point of view. From yours I guess it'd be pocket money.

"How much do you want?" Ned folded his hands together.

"Depends on where and how long."

"The Iron Islands. And however long it takes for you to learn who it was that Euron Greyjoy gave this dagger to."

Bronn eyed the blade of the dagger before tossing it back to Ned. "For what you're askin'... Let's say every moonturn I have to be among those fools will cost double what you just gave." He stood from his rock and came to Ned with a hand out and an optimistic look. "That's my price. Do we have a deal?"

Given how much weighed on the knowledge Ned needed, this was a small price to ask. "Aye."

* * *

Cersei

Upon first arrival, Cersei thought that the North had nothing to offer and would be dull. But after Catelyn Stark introduced her to the hot springs. She felt a tad envious that there weren't any at King's Landing after taking a long soak with Myrcella.

As they were drying off back in the castle, Cersei took the chance to hear her daughter's assessment of the North so far. She sat on her feather bead, clad in a robe while they both waited for their gowns to be brought to them.

"Myrcella dear, how are you liking Winterfell so far?"

"Well, it's a bit… empty. I mean it's nice that it doesn't smell so bad like home does. I wish there was a bit more. But there's still so much I haven't seen yet."

"What about Lord Stark's son?" Cersei asked. From what she saw of him, he had the wits of cousin Lancel when he was around her daughter and the arrogance of Jaime when he was that age.

Myrcella blushed a little. "He's handsome. I thought they'd all look like the Wildlings from the books."

Cersei was half disappointed that they all weren't. Had they been, it would have given her a better reason to bring her daughter home. "I suppose I did too. Do you think he likes you?"

"Sansa thinks he does. I like her. I hope we become good friends."

"But what about your friends back home? Won't you miss them and your brothers?"

Myrcella paused before answering. "Everyone but Joffrey."

"Sweetling, your brother is going through a change right now. When boys become men, they are a bit… aggressive about it." Though even she had to admit to herself the concern she had for his behavior. He was becoming a bit too vicious.

"But he's always been mean. I'm glad Robb isn't like him."

Cersei wanted to tell her daughter differently. In King's Landing, all men had a deviant side they hid from the watchful eyes. But these Starks were so damn honorable.

"I will miss home though. The city and everything there that servants would bring. I don't think they have sweets here. And the ocean is so far away."

It was just as she thought, there was nothing for her here. She didn't deserve this place. But Robert was so damn adamant. She laid with him, wooed him, did things for him, but he wouldn't change his mind. And it was too soon to take any real kind of action yet.

"Come sit with me." Cersei held a hand out and took her daughter's as Myrcella did as asked. Her hands were so soft and small, so precious. "You are a princess among lords. Anything you want, all you have to do is say so and they must give it."

"But what if I want you to stay?"

Cersei couldn't help but take her daughter into her arms and hug her tightly. "I want nothing more than for you to come back with me. I want you in arms every day and every night. But you must learn to grow into lioness. Lions do not bow before any other animal."

"But I'm a Baratheon, not a Lannister."

"As long as you are my daughter, you are a lion. And no one will ever stand greater than us. What are our words?"

"Ours is…" Cersei lightly squeezed her hand and cocked her gaze. "Hear me roar."

Cersei smiled with her daughter. "When you are Lady of Winterfell, you make sure that the entire North hears you roar as mighty as your grandfather."

"I will mother."

When the handmaidens came and dressed both of them, they joined Lady Stark and her daughters in the Winterfell Sept for prayer with a few of the other girls that lived in the castle. Jaime was resting from his shift and Ser Arys was on duty. Myrcella was a good girl and prayed to the Seven. Cersei merly folded her hands and did everything to make look like she was praying. Instead of asking for blessings, she was thinking of ways that she could either convince Robert to call of the betrothal or how to make living in a wasteland more bearable for her daughter.

"Lady Stark!" One of the Winterfell guards entered quickly.

Before Catelyn could answer, Cersei did. "Do you think it polite to interrupt women in prayer?"

"Uh… I apologize, your grace. It's just that banners of House Dustin have been spotted with Lord Stark's host."

"House Dustin?" Little Sansa Stark asked. "Does that mean Dom's finally here?" She sounded rather eager.

Cersei stood and brushed her knees off. "Why don't we all go and see, little dove? Come, Myrcella, you can finish your prayers tonight." Walking hand in hand with her daughter, Cersei followed Lady Stark and Sansa to the battlements to look out beyond to the lands around.

Sure enough, Lord Stark was leading his host of men alongside several riders that carried the banner of House Dustin.

"It is Dom!" Sansa said excitedly.

"Who's Dom?" Myrcella asked.

"Domeric Bolton. He's been staying with his aunt at Barrowtown as a page. He's going to be warding here and squiring with Theon to become a knight."

"Another ward?" Cersei asked. "This is quite the litter you have growing here, Lady Catelyn."

Lady Stark gave a courteous smile and looked out to her approaching husband rather than Cersei. "My lord husband does what he thinks will be best for our household. Domeric and Robb are very good friends and Lord Bolton is still grieving over his wife's death. Having Domeric here will give him a place of comfort until he's ready to go home."

Riders began pouring in and Lord Stark was quick to embrace his family and looked much better than when he left. He seemed pleased about catching his thieves. If it were her father who had to deal with it, he would have sent Ser Gregor to take care it. The Mountain always set a good example to fools that thought to pillage her father's lands.

Cersei was quick to spot the young Bolton boy. He stood out most among the rest of the Northmen. He was pale skinned and pale eyed with hair as black as raven feathers. He wore a dark red leather jerkin with a bronze flayed man at each side of his collar.

Lord Stark saw Cersei and got on one knee. The Dustin men and Domeric bolton did the same. "Your grace, please forgive me for leaving you so immediately. I should be better as a host to you and the princess."

"You are forgiven, Lord Stark." As if. This man calling himself a lord should have known better than to just leave his guests to take care of something so simple as a small band of men. "I would have a word with you in private tonight, my lord."

"Of course, your grace. Would after supper be best?"

"I would speak with you before." She wore a smile and looked over to Robb Stark and the Greyjoy greeting the Bolton like he was a brother.

She took to herself watching up on the balconies surrounding the courtyards. It became her favorite and best spot to watch her daughter spend time with Sansa and the other girls. She didn't notice her brother wander next to her.

"Evening," he yawned.

"Shouldn't you be still be resting? Tonight is my our last night here together. I wouldn't want you exhausted when you need to be alert." She was going to make sure that they would never forget their last night together for years to come.

"All the commotion, I couldn't sleep. Besides, one of our men found some beer that has quite the kick to it. What did I miss?"

"Ned Stark returned and there's a Bolton boy here."

"A Bolton? Now that's interesting. Never would have figured a Stark to host a Bolton. Perhaps living here will be interesting. Where is he?"

"The training yard, knocking the that squid and Lord Stark's son into the mud."

"Hm… why don't we go have a watch? Myrcella is fine with Ser Arys watching over her."

Cersei took another look to her daughter and saw her smiling as she played. "Alright."

They walked to the overlook at the training yards and as expected, Robb Stark and Theon Greyjoy were leaning on their practise swords from exhaustion while Domeric Bolton simply rested his sword on his shoulder.

"I guess a day of riding and skipping breakfast wasn't enough of an advantage for you, Robb." Domeric chuckled.

"Shut it, Skinless." Greyjoy spat. He twirled his sword in his hand and stood at the ready. "Let's go again."

Domeric fought against Theon once again. This time, Theon managed to get in a few good hits before getting knocked onto his ass again.

"You're not keeping your stance strong. Dig in when on the defence and light on your feet for the offense. You ready to try again, Stark?"

Before Robb could answer, someone else did.

"I'll have a turn." Jaime responded as he traded his sword for a blunted one. "How old are you?" He asked as he had a few swings.

"Thirteen," Domeric responded sheepishly.

"I stopped using tourney swords when I was that age. But I'll make an acception for this. Now come on." He stood at the ready and Cersei smirked in anticipation for a humiliating match for foolish Northerner who thought he could ever be knight.

Domeric raised his sword and after taking only a single step, Jaime lunged forward and struck at the hilt, disarming the boy before raising the blade to his neck. "Firm stance? Try a firm grip. Again." Jaime kicked the sword over to Domeric and they went at it again. Jaime dragged it out this time, letting the boy have a few hits against his sword before dodging and whacking his sword at Domeric's rear. "Don't lung like that. It's too easy to counter."

Now it was Domeric Bolton leaning on his sword in exhaustion.

Robb Stark stepped forward. "May I have a turn, Ser?"

"You're the son of my host, how can I turn you away?" Jaime said snidely. There were many onlookers and it was pleasing for Cersei to see that they were getting flustered by Jaime's skill. ' _Of course these drunken barbarians would be amazed at real skill.'_

Cersei made her way down a set of stairs to the yard and when she got to the bottom, there was a collective gasp. When she looked back, Jaime was the one in the open and Robb had made a hit with the pommel of his sword.

Jaime raised his brow at the boy before swiping the sword away and attacking with a flurry of strikes. She knew her brother well enough that if Jaime wanted to land a strike on Robb, he would have done so immediately. This was just to drive the boy to exhaustion until he gave up. And yet the boy was refusing to yield.

After a long minute, Jaime stopped and Robb fell to one knee as if he were bowing to him. The Greyjoy and Bolton were both stunned at what they witnessed. Both were afraid to duel again now.

"Not bad for the son of the man who defeated the Sword of the Morning. Does your father practise with you often?"

Robb stood to his feet. "Ser Rodrik trains us most of the time. My father's busy so he doesn't have much time to do it." There was anger present in the boy's voice.

Cersei suddenly had a wonderful idea. One that might cause a bit of fun. "You showed much initiative, Robb Stark." Cersei told him as she approached. "It's quite a shame that you're not pursuing to be knight. But Domeric," she turned to the Bolton, "Sansa's said that you've finished being a page in Barrowton and aim to squire for a knight. You should be my brother's squire."

It was amusing to watch the young Bolton boy pale more than he naturally was. Any more and he would become as white as a haunting ghost. In fact many around them in the training yard had stopped when they heard her suggestion.

"P-pardon, your grace?" Domeric Bolton asked. He looked like he was about to collapse.

"Was I not clear? You should squire for my brother."

Jaime rolled his eyes and stamped the tip of his sword into the mud. They were greenboys compared to him, a true knight of the Westerlands. When the young Bolton boy sparred with Robb Stark almost immediately after his arrival, he showed how far better his skill was. So how was it that he couldn't land the hit that Robb did? It was infuriating.

"Your grace," Domeric began, "I don't think the Ki-" He stopped short when Cersei shot him a cold stare. "... Ser Jaime would want someone like me. I mean, I don't think it'd be proper to squire for the protector of the princess. I would just be a distraction from his duty."

"A squire is meant to learn and assist, is it not? From my point of view, he could use one while in the North. What say you, Ser Jaime? Would a squire not help alleviate your duties?"

Jaime sighed silently while glaring at her. He clearly wasn't in the mood for this but he nodded along. "Green boys have been groveling at my feet for the chance to learn from me, yet you don't. I like that."

Domeric Bolton went wide eyed in shock as did several others. If he got to squire for the greatest swordsman in the world, it would put a wedge between him and Robb Stark. They would certainly go from friends to rivals. And knowing the history between the Boltons and the Starks, it would become a cold relationship afterwards.

But all Jaime gave in response as he walked by a simple pat on the shoulder for Robb Stark. Perhaps he just wanted to wait until Cersei was gone to make a decision.

As everyone dispersed and the boys left to clean themselves for dinner, Lord Stark presented himself in a new set of clothes and washed from his journey.

"Lord Stark," Cersei began, "would you show me to your godswood?" She folded her hands and walked with Ned Stark into the dreariness of the Winterfell godswood. "I trust justice was found to all that were a nuisance to you?"

"Aye, your grace. All who were murdered have been avenged. The wolfswood will do better without men like them any longer."

"The North profits greatly from the ironwood trees, am I wrong?"

"Far from it. The woodsmen of House Forrester create strongest planks for finest of shields, ships, and much more."

"You country is so vast and large, I can't imagine it is your only wealth."

"In the North, we value the roofs that shelter us and the hearths that warm us more than the gold beneath us. Winter always comes and death always follows."

"My father would always say that the Starks are always right. Winter is Coming." The words felt bitter in her mouth after she said them. After much time to inquire and see what there is of Winterfell, I find that I do not approve of my daughter's betrothal." She stopped and looked at Eddard Stark straight in the eye. "I don't want her here. She is a princess of the south, not a Northerner."

Ned Stark straightened himself. "I cannot force the love I have for my home onto others, your grace. If you deem Winterfell unworthy of your daughter, then I will not take offense if you want to break the betrothal."

"My husband is adamant and as a Queen, my word and command are nothing when compared to his. My daughter will remain here, in a place that doesn't deserve her." She took a breath to calm herself. "Myrcella is my favorite. I know we're not allowed to have favorites, but she is. I will go to war for her if I have to. Would you do the same for your children?"

Lord Stark nodded quietly. "Yes."

"Then swear as a Stark to me, that you will do everything in your power as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to make sure my daughter is happy here."

"I swear by the Old Gods and the New, I will protect your daughter as my own and see to it that she can call Winterfell her home. I will do as you command, your grace."

Six days had come and gone too quickly. When the sun had just risen over the hills, Cersei was holding Myrcella tightly in her arms and kissing her on her cheeks. It hurt her so much to say goodbye to her beautiful girl until she would become a woman.

"Write to me, please." Cersei asked.

"I will."

She smiled to Myrcella. "I'll miss you everyday."

"Me too."

Cersei gave her daughter one last kiss before turning to her brother. "Protect my daughter, Ser Jaime."

"Always." Jaime replied.

Cersei stepped into her wheelhouse and her escort began their departure from Winterfell back to King's Landing. She looked out the window one last time and saw Myrcella smiling with tears streaking down her face.

* * *

Robb

For three days, Dom had been bragging about how much better a rider he was and for three days the people of Winterfell were whispering agreements that he was. They would say that not even Robb's late aunt Lyanna who was half horse could outride him.

Robb decided to put it to the test. He already knew how much better Dom was at the sword than him, now it was time to see how much better Dom was at riding.

He was tying the saddle onto his brown and white spotted horse, Warpaint, the horse he rode since it was a pony and he was a boy (at least when he was a younger boy). Theon had a full brown horse given to him by father. Before he had it, the horses name was Fireball, but Theon decided to call it Loudmouth given how much noise the horse made.

Dom rode a black Dornish stallion he called Shadow. His horse was a nameday gift from his aunt the first year he served as a page in Barrowton. That same year, Dom got a sword from his father that had a bronze flayed man as the hilt to match his own.

They were nearly ready to go out on a ride. As to where, probably to the waterfalls a few miles to the northeast. They had bows and arrows prepared as well in case there was any good game along the way.

"Robb," Theon grumbled, "the Mad Baby comes to invade."

Robb's eyes closed in disappointment when he heard that. Sure enough, Bran came running over to them. "Robb! Robb, I wanna come!"

Robb rolled his eyes and turned to his Bran. His brother had just been starting to learn riding ponies. "No, Bran. We're going to be going fast. You can't even ride as quick as I can run."

Bran pouted at the denied demand. "But I wanna come!"

"I said no! Now go away!"

Bran's face turned angry as the tears welled up in his eyes. Sure enough, he began to cry loudly and ran off.

"Well, shit." Theon said. "Best hurry before your mother and father came to his aid!" Theon and Dom began to do the straps faster as did Robb.

Finally, the saddles were on securly. Robb and his friends mounted their horses and made way to ride out.

"Robb Stark!" His lady mother called. "You get over here now!"

"Go, go!" Robb commanded and whipped the reigns of his horse. The three of them rode out of Winterfell and into the fields. He couldn't help but let out a howl of excitement as the winds brushed against his face and the speed carried him over land faster than he could dream.

Dom shot past him and took the lead. "Come on, Stark! Let's see what you got!" They headed for the beginnings of the trees that were in front of them.

Robb spurred his horse to go faster and Theon was chasing them down in the rear. They darted past trees and kicked up mud and leaves.

Dom led the way and decided to take every turn possible. He was certainly proving how good a rider he was. His mother was a Ryswell so he truly was half horse. Theon skipped every turn and rode straight through the trees, passing Dom and Robb unfairly. But nevertheless, they followed Theon's lead and caught up to him easily.

Within the hour, they reached the waterfalls that were far from the castle and the river that flowed from them.

Robb dismounted and let himself walk free of Winterfell's walls. He fell down in a soft patch of grass and considered taking a nap.

"You stayed on my tail, at least." Domeric said as he sat down next to Robb. Theon was just a few paces away, picking up rocks and skipping them on the river.

"You're hard to catch. Maybe your a centaur instead of a horse, a flayed one at that." Robb laughed.

"A flayed centaur… perhaps that'll be my coat of arms when I'm a knight." He chuckled before looking all around. Ser Jaime hadn't said anything more about taking Dom as a squire. People were starting to think it was meant as a joke between the Lannisters. "Should've brought some fishing rods instead of bows."

"Mmm," Robb said. He didn't really want to hunt that much. He just wanted to get away from home and everything there.

"Well, Robb, you can't outfight me, you can't outride me, but you certainly get better girls than me. I mean, I wager a wizard turned the princess's hair that gold."

Theon turned and called out. "She's more a Lannister than Baratheon! Do you think the hair between her legs is just as gold?"

"Piss off!" Robb shouted as he sat himself up. He didn't want to think about that kind of thing. He thought about it when it came to some of the pretty whores that he would see when passing through Wintertown, but the princess was still just a girl. "She probably doesn't even have any. And that's still more than you, Squidface!"

"Icebrain!" Theon shot back before resuming skipping stones.

Robb grunted and fell back onto the grass.

"He's got a point, you know." Domeric said. "She does look exactly like her mother, only shorter and with smaller…" He had his hands by his chest, gesturing he had heavy breasts. "You think hers will grow as big as the queen's?"

"If they do," called Theon, "then they're wasted on a Northman!"

"Psh," Robb sat up again, "you're just made because anyone on the Iron Islands with tits that big weighs more than a whale!"

Theon tossed a rock in Robb's direction and it barely missed him.

"So what do you think of the princess?" Dom asked. Theon had stopped skipping rocks and came back to them.

"I don't know. She's the spitting image of a princess just more… gold. I mean, golden hair, golden dresses, golden uncle, how much more gold can one be?"

"What about her face? She looks pretty."

Myrcella was very pretty but still young, younger than Sansa by a few months. "I hope she turns into a woman soon. I'd hate to have a beard when she still looks like a girl."

"Ha, don't want to tickle her when you kiss her?" Theon jested.

Robb smirked before tackled Theon into the grass playfully! They battled to pin the other down and got covered in dirt and mud. Unfortunately, Theon was the winner and had Robb's face buried in the grass.

"Mmph! Come on, get off!" Robb ordered.

"You know what to say!"

Robb sighed out and wished he had more strength for next time. "I'm the prettiest little girl among a million pretty daisies."

"And don't forget it."

Domeric was rolling over laughing by the time Robb was back on his feet.

"Best get back. The longer we're out here, the longer the lecture we'll get from my lady mother."

Sure enough, when they returned, his mother was waiting for them all with Bran, red faced and angry, clinging to her dress.

Theon and Domeric were excused to get cleaned up while Robb had to face the wrath of his mother. He hung his head down and didn't want her to see his frustration.

"Well?" His mother asked.

"What?" Robb asked back.

"You owe your brother an apology."

"Me? An apology? Why should I?"

"Look at me when you're speaking." Robb lifted his head and saw the cold glare sent down to him. "He just wanted to spend time with you. That doesn't mean you get to shout and run from him."

"But I wanted to spend time with Dom and Theon alone. Bran can't ride fast and they can."

"You have years ahead of you to ride with others that can go as fast as you, but Bran is still learning. He wants his brother to teach him to be fast instead of someone else. I don't want you to miss that chance. But Robb Stark, you will apologize to your brother or you will sleep in the kennels without any supper."

Damn, and tonight's supper was kidney pies. Robb grumbled and looked down to his brother. "I'm sorry, Bran."

Bran replied by sticking his tongue out before their mother saw.

"Good. Tomorrow, you will take Bran for a ride after your lessons with Maester Luwin. And you'll be doing that until the next full moon."

Robb felt like he was punched in the stomach. "The next full moon? That's more than a fortnight!"

"It would have just been tomorrow had you not decided to ride away. Now go get cleaned up." Catelyn took Bran away, leaving Robb to sulk and be miserable. Before he even got inside, Jory found and stopped him.

"Good ride today, boy?" Jory asked.

"Best in a long time." Robb replied. When he tried to move on, Jory raised a hand to block his path. "Something else?"

"Your father wants to see you."

Wonderful. Another lecture. Robb nodded silently and made his way to his father's solar. The door was open when he got there. He didn't bother to knock and walked right in.

He saw his father sitting on the edge of his bed with his face in his hands.

"Father?"

His father looked up and patted the space next to him on the bed. "Come and sit with me." He didn't seem prepared to give a lecture, maybe it was something else?

Robb did as he was told and sat by his father's side. "I suppose you're going to scold me too?" Robb guessed.

"I let your mother take of that. What I have to say is a rather conflicting." He paused for a moment before continuing on. "Ser Jaime told me that wants you as his squire."

"What?" Robb nearly exclaimed. He wasn't sure if he heard his father right. This was unbelievable. Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer and Oathbreaker, but also the greatest swordsman in the south wanted Robb to squire for him. He wasn't sure to feel excited or unwanting of such an offer.

"But," His father continued, "I have refused him."

"What?" Robb asked again. He felt worse than when his mother punished him. "Isn't it my choice to refuse or not? Don't I get a say in this?"

"You don't need to be a squire or a knight, Robb. You are my heir and need to focus on becoming Lord of Winterfell."

"Can't I do both? Theon and Domeric are heirs to their fathers and both of them are-"

"I said no!" Ned exclaimed. "I won't have you learning under the Kingslayer's tutelage! He has nothing of worth to pass on."

"Except his skills with a sword! He's the greatest swordsman in all the south and he wants me to learn from him!"

"He's an Oathbreaker. Preserving your honor is far more valuable than bettering your skill at fighting."

Robb's fists clenched. This wasn't fair at all. ' _How am I supposed to fight in war and survive with honor?_ ' he wanted to say, but he was too angry to keep on speaking to his lord father. He stormed for the door but turned back just before leaving. "You're just as much an oathbreaker too."

* * *

 **So for many of you saying earlier that Ned is still naive as canon, do you still think so? Let me know your thoughts! And I still need a beta!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Here we are, chapter 14. And this one is just a single POV because there is much to be read. Answer will be given and questions will be raised. Be sure to leave a review, I will respond if I can! Next chapter will be up next monday, until then enjoy!**

* * *

Baelgor

Their journey from Yunkai had become more hectic than they planned. It was supposed to be so simple, scavenge some treasures, sneak by the Dothraki while the sacked Yunkai, get to Meereen, and book a ship to the Free Cities. Meereen had come quickly. It was hard to get in the city given the people's worry that the Dothraki would be coming for them next. They prepared many tributes to give in hopes of being spared.

Unfortunately, every damn person with a ship or a boat was smart enough to flee out to the waters until the Dothraki came and went. Booking passage became impossible. And to add to their troubles, another Dothraki horde was coming from the north to challenge Khal Drogo at the gates of Meereen.

In order to escape the might of two Dothraki armies, Baelgor fled with Vedros and Morghon to the east while they still had a window of opportunity to get out of the Dothraki's path from the north. They had to ride for three days straight to get out of the way. Had the stallions been any other breed of horse, they never would have made it.

They took refuge in Borash, a once great city of slavers now a ruin for nomads and gypsies to stop and rest. It was a prime place to be ambushed by slavers, but luckily it was empty of such company and any other kind of company at all.

The great pyramids were collapsed after being put to flame a long time ago. All of the great structures were just as destroyed. They only places worth making camp in were the many fighting pits found in the manses of the master's.

The manse they chose was close to a working water well and there were trees and vines bearing plump fruit growing in the yards of other manses.

Vedros had been especially upset ever since they left Meereen. Apparently, most of the trinkets he found from the battle were simply bronze coated in gold. He didn't get much money when they sold their findings from the battle to a back alley dealer in Meereen, but it was more than they were worth. The need for trinkets and tokens to give to a Dothraki Khalasar was high in demand that day.

Baelgor's haul was the most profiting since all Morghon brought back was the sword. Ever since, he had been training his pupil every morning and even twice as hard than normal. If he wanted to wield Valyrian steel, he had to be worthy of it.

Morghon and Vedros spared in the fighting pit while Baelgor watched from the seats. Morghon wielded his shortsword and Vedros wielded Blackfyre alongside his other sword to act as two seperate fighters. They had been going over a set of movements for the last hour.

Morghon was fighting using an ancient form that was born in Valyria. Baelgor's ancestors had transcribed it from their ritual dances they would perform in the flames. The moves were honed to guide the sword fast and fluidly without any form of retreat. These were the forms known as the Dancing Dragon. They served Baelgor well time after time. He had no scars to prove it.

"Again," Baelgor ordered as he watched from up high, smoking the last of the pipeweed he stole from Meereen. "You keep hesitating. Doubt will make you miss your mark far more that fear will. Do it faster this time."

Vedros stepped with Morghon and blocked each strike with precision. Morghon was getting close. Maybe in a year he would be strong and skilled enough to wield a longsword, he would be ready for Blackfyre.

Vedros shook his head when they finished the set. "Your arms are dragging like you're wielding a hammer instead of a sword. Try to make your movements quicker like this." Vedros struck out at Morghon a few times, aiming specifically for his shortsword and making his movements clear to see.

But Morghon suddenly paused, and his hesitation left him open for a swing that wasn't going to be blocked.

Vedros panicked and all he could do was turn his sword sideways as he whacked the flat of the blade into Morghon's head. "What are you doing, you idiot!"

Morghon fell to the side and hissed at the injury. He grasped at the wound with one hand and signed with the other. 'No, you are the fool!' His angry expression switched immediately when he got to his feet and stood still.

"What's the matter..."

Morghon waved him off, silencing him. He just stood in place.

Baelgor stopped puffing on his pipe and began to worry a little.

Morghon looked up to him. 'Do you hear that?'

Baelgor closed his eyes and focused on the sounds all around. Until now there had only been a few birds chirping and the chitterings of sand being blown in the wind. But now there was a low rumbling he wouldn't have noticed.

His eyes shot open and he tossed his pipe aside. ' _Thunder on a day without clouds means the worst storm is coming.'_ He climbed the seats of the arena and up to the roofs. He stood tall and looked out to the east.

"Oh fuck," he cursed under his breath when he saw the Dothraki horde on the outskirts of the city. From the looks of it, the Khal from the north meet Khal Drogo and lost his Khalasaar which meant his life and braid were lost as well. "Dothraki!" He called down to the boys as he hopped from the roof back to the arena. "We're leaving now!"

He scrambled to retrieve his pipe and did his sword belt around his waist as the boys gathered everything else they had. He jumped down into the pit and ran through the underbelly corridors of the manse where the pit fighters would prepare and rejuvenate.

When they went outside to where the horses were tied, they froze at the sight of a lone Dothaki rider, a boy younger than Vedros but older than Morghon. The Dothraki boy was gazing curiously at the horses but when he saw Baelgor and the others his look changed to panic. He was a scout instead of a regular warrior.

"Do not do something foolish," Baelgor warned in Dothraki.

The Dothraki boy's response was a howling war scream and riding away into the streets in the direction of the approaching Khalasar.

"Fuck!" With no knife to throw at the scout, it wouldn't be long until the fury of an entire horde would be upon them to ask how two Dothraki stallions came into their possession.

They mounted their horses and rode off as fast as they could. The echoes of the lone scout's screams faded away but the thunderous sound of galloping hooves was growing louder.

When they got through the pile of rocks that once were the east gate, they were faced with a single road that went up into a narrow pass through the mountains side. Baelgor looked back and saw a large number of Dothraki following after them, no more than a mile behind. Even though the pass would force the horse riders to squeeze together, they were a stubborn bunch and wouldn't give up a chase so easily. They had too much pride to do something like that.

Baelgor looked ahead for anything that could cut the Dothraki off from the chase. Maybe a rocky slope to crash onto the road or another way that great numbers could not follow. If they had mountain goats instead of stallions, then climbing up the steep mountain side would be easy.

' _Dammit! There's nothing but a crumbling road polluted with stalks of grass… stalks of tall dry grass, lots of it.'_ He didn't think to look, but on each side of the road and leaking into it were fields of tall dry grass stalks. ' _Perfect.'_

When the horses got far enough, Baelgor handed the reigns to Morghon and slipped off the horse from the back. "Keep going!" Baelgor shouted to Morghon before the boy could stop.

Morghon simply looked back but kept riding hard. He was finally learning to not doubt his teacher.

Baelgor turned and beheld all the Dothraki charging after them. 'Just for two stallions?' He wondered what the Khalasar would do if they all knew that Baelgor was in possession of two Valyrian steel swords.

It didn't matter though. With no witnesses except the Dothraki, he was about to stop an entire horde in their tracks, a feat never done by any one man or army in the history of the world. It was time to show what happens when an army of horses tries to hunt down a dragon.

He snapped his fingers and ignited both hands in his white flames. He waved his arms above his head before quickly cupping his hands together in front of his face. He took a heavy breath and then opened his hands and blew. The flames in his hands shot in a stream and lit the grass wherever he aimed it, creating a wall of glorious flames that began as the purest of whites before transitioning into yellows and oranges.

The flames were moving fast and consuming everything in their path. The Khalasar had halted when the horses refused to go any further.

Baelgor stopped when enough had been lit aflame. He smirked at the destruction and success it all had. But a sudden dizziness came over him. "Damn…" he groaned. He overdid it. This would be worse than any hangover he ever had. ' _At least I'm still alive… no, somebody kill me now.'_

He fell to his knees as his head banged with pain. But an arm wrapped under his arm and over his chest and dragged him backwards.

"Always a show off," Vedros grumbled as he lifted Baelgor onto the saddle of his horse. They rejoined Morghon and rode into the pass of the mountains, heading east.

' _East…'_ Baelgor's thoughts were drifting apart. He couldn't settle his mind down to form the words he was thinking. ' _No… not east… not Tolos… not home...'_

The ride through the mountain pass lasted an entire day. The sun was just at the edge of the horizon when they stopped to rest.

Baelgor's head still hurt, but at least he could think straight now. He sat back against a rock while massaging the sides of his temple. The massage didn't help dull the pain, but it was relaxing enough to take his mind off of it.

Morghon was tending to the horses and Vedros was overlooking the landscape. "We should set the horses loose and let their tracks lead the Dothraki away."

Baelgor chuckled, but immediately stopped when it made the pain worse. "There's no need. They're not chasing us anymore. Otherwise, we would have been caught by now."

Vedros looked at him doubtfully. "I doubt that inferno you created paralyzed them with eternal fear since it's probably nothing but ash by now."

"Look, you idiot." Baelgor pointed over to the east horizon, to the half moon that was rising. "Tonight is a night of fertility for the Dothraki. They'll be doing nothing except each other until dawn tomorrow. Their omens and godly signs will take them to Vaes Dothrak after tonight."

Vedros looked out to the moon but still shook his head. "We can't go north. We don't have enough supplies to get to the closest settlement."

Baelgor's hand fell into his lap. "You didn't gather any fruit from Borash?"

"No, I got the water. You were supposed to get the food."

"No, you were. I was the one who got the water!"

A loud whistle broke their argument. Morghon looked angry and signed to them. 'You two are acting like children. We have little food left, maybe a week's amount if we be careful.'

Vedros sighed and relaxed. His hands left the handles of his weapons as did Baelgor's. "Maybe we should rest for an hour."

'Yes. I'm going to finish eating the horses.' Morghon signed.

"What?" Baelgor asked. "Eat the horses?"

Morghon slapped his palm on his face and gestured a feeding motion.

Vedros got a laugh out of it as Morghon walked off. When he was out of earshot range, Vedros pointed a finger at Baelgor. "Eat horseshit and die."

"Yeah, fuck you." Baelgor growled, although insulting Vedros felt relaxing. "We can't go east."

"Why not? Tolos is just a few days away… is there a bounty on you there as well?" Vedros liked to remind Baelgor of the many bounties on his head from various cities. It made it hard for them to travel sometimes. Volantis, Myr, Qohor, Qarth, all have been painted by him with the blood of a fool that worshipped the Lord of Light.

"No, but that doesn't matter. We're not going."

"We don't really have any choice unless you can cook dirt and sand into something edible."

"I said no!" Baelgor exclaimed. "We're not going to Tolos." He was on the verge of holding Vedros at swordpoint to win this argument.

There was a long pause between the two as they each glared daggers at the other. But then Vedros smirked at him. "You're out of wine and pipeweed."

Baelgor looked away and his expression broke when he realized that Vedros was right. "You are a bastard." He muttered before leaning back on the rock. "Alright. Two days and then we're gone." If it were truly his choice, they would be in and out of Tolos within an hour, but they needed to rest after so much travel.

They decided to rest for three hours rather than just one. After that, they rode through the rest of the night eastward, to Tolos. The entire journey, he would think of ways that they could avoid the city. But there were none. They were starving as were the horses and there were no villages or settlements that they could travel to instead.

Tolos was only a few miles away after days of travel as was a rain storm. It was just as Baelgor remembered it. The bricks that made the walls were painted indigo while the looming pyramids were bright yellow, almost golden when in the sunlight.

There were too many memories that waited for him in that city, memories he tried to forget with wine and pipeweed. The only thing he would be glad to get those two things. Hopefully his favorite meadery hadn't gone out of business and the spice merchants from Asshai still came with the best weed.

Apart from those and resupplying for the journey to the Free Cities, there were quite a few other things they could get. They were all in need of some better clothes given how much wear and tatter was becoming of their current ones, Morghon could have a scabbard made for Blackfyre and Vedros was in want of a bow since before they went to Yunkai.

"I think we should head for Vaes Dothrak after this." Vedros suggested. "We might find better things to trade the rest of our loot for instead of coin."

"What a wonderful idea," Baelgor falsely agreed, "go to the same place as the Khal who's Khalasaar we stole horses from." He earned a sour glare from Vedros. "We don't have enough things to be worth letting in." Baelgor replied. "If we could have managed to snag a dozen weapons and some clothes and armor, then we'd have something." If only they had a cart or a wagon, they could have easily made off with a dozen bodies.

"Then let's go find where the Golden Company fled to. We can pull off a light raid like we did at Bloodbeard's camp." Vedros nearly lost his head in that raid a year back, but the haul was certainly worth it.

"No. They've likely regrouped with the main force. There's too many to go unnoticed. Although… with Blackheart dead, they'll be preparing to dip his skull in gold and choose the next leader. That distraction might just give us a window. I'll think about it when we're done here." No, their next destination would be Braavos.

He wasn't sure what to expect when they got inside the walls. The last eight years had been kind to the city. It felt like he had left only yesterday. The statue of a bronze Harpy he always hated was still in the plaza just after the entrance.

Baelgor gave the horses to Vedros and looked around. "Alright, leave the horses at the stable over there. Morghon, we're going to the smiths to get a scabbard for your sword." He looked back at Vedros. "Meet us back here in an hour. Do what you will until then."

"I'm getting some food. I wonder how long it'll take to find a decent bakery-"

"Two streets down that way then take a left." Baelgor pointed over to a street that had a small scent of spices coming from it.

Vedros looked puzzled but kept silent. He went off to the stables while Baelgor took Morghon to where the smiths and wood workers were. It was a bit deeper in the city. Every street they walked, Baelgor was sure to check every face he could see to make sure he didn't spot someone he recognized.

Perhaps after they found a room, he would take a journey to one of the bathhouses. They could use a good washing after months without even a splash in a river.

It suddenly got hotter when they turned the corner to the street with all the crafters. Forges were alite and bellows worked to fuel the heat. Men were covered in sweat, soot, and dirt as they struck their creations. There were weaponsmiths, armorers, even an artist at work pouring molten metal into a mold.

"Here, this one." Baelgor led Morghon to the second largest forge on the street. Several smiths were striking red hot steel on their anvils and the walls were decorated with tools, weapons, and pieces of armor of many kinds.

The master of the forge, a tall and large man with a long dark brown beard, set his piece back in the hot coals as the apprentice worked the bellows and approached them. Surprisingly, he spoke in High Valyrian rather than Ghiscari or Bastard Valyrian. 'Greetings and welcome. My name is Maelthew. What are you looking to buy?'

'A proper scabbard for Valyrian Steel.' Baelgor replied, earning a surprised look from Maelthew and a few other smiths that heard him. He took Blackfyre from Morghon and freed it from the wrappings.

Maelthew took it carefully and inspected it with great interest. 'Beautiful. I had few chances of retaining very rare pieces. What kind of sheath? Leather or wooden?'

'Wooden wrapped in leather.' Morghon tugged on Baelgor's sleeve to get his attention. "What?"

' _I want a new hilt too.'_ Morghon signed.

"That's going to cost more than we have."

Morghon rummaged through his personal satchel and pulled out a hefty purse of coin. Baelgor's brow lifted high when he saw something he never knew the boy had.

"You sure you want to blow all of that on the hilt?"

' _I am.'_ Morghon replied.

Baelgor nodded and turned back to Maelthew. 'And he wants a new hilt too.'

'I can do that. What kind of design?' Maelthew asked eagerly.

Both sets of eyes went down to Morghon for a response. What he signed put a smirk on Baelgor's face. 'He wants it to have dragons like it once did-'

"Baelgor?" A familiar voice said.

Baelgor tensed up and gritted his teeth. The one thing he didn't want to happen was to be recognized, but hearing that voice made him realize that there was one more thing that he would have liked to avoid, he really hadn't wanted to be spotted by him...

"Baelgor, that is you!"

He turned and saw his old friend Laekyr standing in the street with his arms open as if wanted a hug, a man he grew up with as a boy in the city. He was dumb as shit with who was thicker than the walls of the Tolos. Since Baelgor last saw him, Laekyr grew out a mustache and dyed it bright green to match his hair. His teeth had reddend from bloodgrass probably and he still had that stupid smile too.

"Laekyr, just a moment." He almost groaned while forcing half a smile. He turned back to the smith. 'Give the boy some paper and he'll write down anything else he wants. He can't speak so don't expect any answer unless he writes it.' He turned to Morghon. "You wait here until I get back, got it?" Morghon nodded and went with Maelthew into the forge.

Baelgor left the forge and went to the street where Laekyr was. He stopped just far enough that Laekyr couldn't wrap his arms around him. "Laekyr, good to see you." he lied.

"That's it? That's all you have to say to your best friend? I thought you were in your manse when it burned down! We thought you were dead!" Laekyr moved forward and against Baelgor's inner wishes, hugged him tightly but it was one way.

"Well, I'm alive now so you can let go." Thankfully, Laekyr stopped hugging him but still held him.

"That boy with you... that wasn't Althor, was it?" Laekyr asked.

Baelgor tensed at the mention of his son's name. But, he had to keep calm and not do something stupid. Vedros would be hanging over him about it like he did the other twenty things. "No, I owe the boy a favor or two."

"There's so much I want to know! But not here, let's go get ourselves something to drink."

Baelgor shrugged. "If it's free, it's me." He begrudgingly walked with Laekyr who had an arm over Baelgor's shoulders, unaware who was following them.

The two of them came to the tavern that they both visited many times together in the past, the Mermaid's Oasis. When they got inside, a wave of nostalgia washed over Baelgor, but he wasn't sure to enjoy it or despise it.

Baelgor got a large mug of his usual from when he lived in the city, an apricot mead with blackberry. He almost drank the entire thing before Laekyr opened his mouth again.

"It's so good to see you again. Where've you been? If I'd known you didn't burn with your manse, I would've tried to find you!"

He finished what he had and almost slammed his cup. "I've been traveling around, seeing the Free Cities and such." He waved a wench down for a refill.

"You? Traveling? You always said you never wanted to leave this place… but I suppose when your in the market for a home that isn't burned to the ground…" He laughed annoyingly as if it was some clever joke. He was acting rather strange being more humorous rather than sympathetic. It was unlike him. "Well it's good to have you back. I mean, are you here to stay, or just passing by?"

He hated the way that Laekyr spoke so casually about his family home or the less than ideal state that it had been left in. Not to mention he found little humor in the subject matter. Baelgor didn't have the patience to reveal his life's story to a man whom he hadn't spoken to in years. "Just passing by. I never stay in one place for too long." It was how he was able to avoid large groups of the Red Religion for so long.

"Gods, you're practically a born nomad!" Laekyr laughed and drank his brandy. "Where are you heading to next? Somewhere exciting?"

"Mantarys." Baelgor replied gruffly, not at all interested in entertaining this conversation.

There was a small pause in the conversation, a moment when Laekyr eyed Baelgor strangely. "Mantarys? You're bringing Shienna and Althor to Mantarys? I never even asked if they're with you."

Baelgor's fists tightened when he heard those two names. He couldn't let himself linger on thinking about them. "They aren't with me."

But Laekyr wouldn't stop talking long enough for Baelgor to keep his head clear. "I missed seeing Shienna. She was always such a fun spirit to have around. And that beautiful silver hair…"

Laekyr kept prattling on but Baelgor couldn't hear him. His mind had gone blank except for picturing the faces of Shienna and Althor. He tried to use every ounce of will he had not to.

His hands tightened into fists and he started to shake from the fury his memories gave him.

"Shut up," he muttered but it was outspoken by Laekyr's stupid voice. Was he still rambling on? "I said shut up!" His fist shot up and across Laekyr's face and it knocked the fool onto the floor. Blood trickled from Laekyr's lip and he looked absolutely aghast at what had just happened to him. "I hate you. I'm not your friend, I never was your friend. Now fuck off before I do more than just hit you!" His hand grabbed the hilt of Fang and held it tightly.

Laekyr was obedient and scurried from the ground and ran as fast as he could. Once he was out of sight, Baelgor breathed deeply and felt like he had no idea what had just happened. He drank all that was left of his apricot mead but it wasn't enough. He needed more wine, he needed to smoke, he needed to get out of this fucking city!

He found the closest meadery and would have bought an entire keg if only he could carry it around. Instead he settled for a heavy wine pouch of the strongest stuff sold. He downed as much as he could when he got back to the streets. After pushing and stumbling through a trader's market nearby, he found a spice merchant with the weed he wanted. He found a small alley and immediately lit his pipe for a smoke.

The fumes of the smoke and flavors of the wine danced together as they brought him into a calm and relaxed state. But he still felt like someone was squeezing his heart with their hand. Everything was just wrong inside.

His senses became mulled and he became lost in intoxication. He didn't notice or know when he was slumped over someone's shoulder, only that it was uncomfortable and he no longer had his wine or his pipe in his hands.

By the time Baelgor was breaking out of his drunken and high spell, he started to feel a great pain throughout his head and oddly enough a soreness in his side.

"Wine… whersh deh wine?" Baelgor ran his hands across the ground, searching for his wineskin. When he felt around, he realized that his hands were not touching the dirt and stone of the alley but wood.

"Get up!" Vedros spat with a kick into Baelgor's side. Now he knew what caused the soreness. "I said get up!"

Baelgor groaned as he got up from the floor. His vision was a blur and he hurt all over. "Where are we?"

"An inn. We got a room after I found you."

"Hash it been an hour already?" He scanned the room for anything to drink. He was absolutely parched.

"It's been seven, you cunt!" Vedros nearly shouted.

Baelgor then noticed that it was just him and Vedros in the room. "Where'sh Morghon?" he couldn't stop slurring his words.

"He left a while ago. He's gone looking for a house, I think."

That was curious. "A housh? What'sh he plan to do, shettle down here?"

"I don't know what he hopes to find. He just said he was going to look for a house that was burned down"

When Vedros said that, Baelgor snapped out of of his headache and the leftover stupor. "What? You're sure he said a burned down house?" How did Morghon even know about that?

"Yes… why?"

Baelgor didn't give a reply, he didn't have time to. He dashed out of the room as fast as he could, all the while muttering 'no' under his breath over and over. It was almost evening and it was raining heavily too. The streets were wet with mudd and many people were clearing out.

Baelgor went as far as to shove people aside as he ran through the streets to get back to his home. In a way, it was almost as if some force was pulling him back. He couldn't let Morghon see what was there. He couldn't let him see what was left of his past.

He finally stopped when he found the place he never wanted to be in the whole world ever again. The roads were empty around the charred ruins of his family's manse. This was all House Aekylosh had after the Doom. This was where they hoarded all they had left. An entire library on magic no else could ever dream of having, tapestries of metals woven into thread, so much that was priceless to everyone else in the world all gone to ash because of him.

His head was quite clear when he began entered the ruins of his manse. Each step he took deeper among the ash and charcoal, it became more overwhelming to be back. He was afraid to be back. He could picture the rooms as they used to be. The fountain of marble dragons that spewed water instead of fire was now dry and crumbled into pebbles. His room where he loved his wife night after night was collapsed into itself. The only place in the manse that was probably still intact was the vault.

But the yard in the back was untouched by his flames that he cast that night in his fury and sorrow. He almost collapsed when he saw the giant silver maple tree still growing in the center of the dying garden. On the bark were the many scorched handprints of his kin before him. Morghon was right next to it with a hand over the one lowest to the ground.

Baelgor's footsteps crunched over the dirt and rock. The sound was loud enough to alert Morghon. The boy looked scared until he saw who it was.

"You shouldn't be here." Baelgor said as he got closer. He couldn't help but scan up and down the bark and found his own handprint he made when he was fourteen, when he cast his first flames. Next to his was Shienna's and below them was Althor's. It was the smallest hand print on the whole tree and the last ever made.

'Was this your home?' signed Morghon.

"Not anymore. Come on, we're leaving."

Morghon shook his head and signed. 'What are these?'

"I said leave!" Baelgor shouted and brought a hand to Fang's hilt. But the moment his skin touched the handle, a searing pain roared from the scar he made swearing his oath. He yelled out and fell to his knees, grabbing his wrist and watching the scar smoke. It had been so long since he was burned.

Morghon rushed to Baelgor's side and knelt down with him. 'What is wrong?'

Baelgor hissed out and the pain began to die out. He steadied his breathing and made a tight fist. "I swore an oath to protect you. I was about to break it." A sacred vow that could never be broken until death released him from it. The searing heat remained and it was starting to spread up his arm and throughout his body. The rain that fell onto his skin was starting to evaporate into steam.

He got back onto his feet and stared at the silver maple. He walked over and place his burning hand over the print he made long ago. He never realised how much he grew since then. "Every Aekylosh that could summon the white flame in their palm was given the right to mark this tree." He hand went over to Shienna's mark. It almost felt as smooth as her skin once did. "Shienna…"

He stumbled forward and fell hard on the ground. He was overtaken by the heat in his body. The shapes in his vision began to drag and he felt himself become heavy.

Morghon rushed down to his side and kept trying to pull him to his feet.

"Althor… Althor…" He mumbled as his eyes fell from exhaustion. It was so hot everywhere. His skin burned and his sweat boiled as it trickled down his face. "Alth…"

"Baelgor…" Shienna's voice said, tone and words sweet as she was.

"Papa…" Althor said.

Baelgor saw them standing before him, hand in hand. Shienna's beautiful silver hair was flowing with the wind. They were staring at him blankly. They were there, together.

"Shienna… Althor!" Baelgor walked to them, but he wasn't getting any closer. His feet were moving but he wasn't.

A small spark snapped at the feet of Shienna and Althor. It erupted into red flames that engulfed their feet and consumed their clothes.

Baelgor began to run as fast as he could. "Althor! Shienna!"

"Papa!" The fires began to eat at their skin and turned what was left into ash.

As if a floor finally appeared beneath Baelgor's feet, his speed brought him to his wife and son when they were nothing but scorched skeletons. When he embraced their bones, they instantly turned into dust in the wind. "NO!"

He felt a hand rest on his left shoulder and the priest speaking behind him. "Only death can pay for life, and the death of two will save the lives of millions."

Baelgor drew Fang and ignited the blade in the hottest fires he could conjure. He slashed right through the Red Priest as he spun around. But there was no one standing behind him when he turned, only bodies.

Hundreds of devout priests and priestesses were dead at his feet. Either bled or burned to death, they were all the ones he had slain since that day. This was what his legacy had become. Not a descendant of the greatest fire mages in the history of the world, but a murderer.


	15. Chapter 15

**Here we are with number 15! Tensions are gonna rise and conflicts are brewing.**

 **Thanks to everyone reading and for those of you who leave a comment, you guys are awesome!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Robb

Lessons today felt especially slow. There seemed to be ten thousand Houses in Westeros. Who cared about the extinct ones? Why couldn't Maester Luwin be teaching something fun like the history of some wars instead of political inventory?

It was also cold in the library. There was no fireplace to be lit nor anything else of the sort to bring warmth. The smell of smoke still lingered from when it burned down years ago.

"Robb," Maester Luwin said, "House Frey, what are their words?"

Robb sat slumped into his arms at the table between his books. He was miserably bored. Theon was leaning back in his seat looking elsewhere, Dom was the only one really paying attention. "Um…" The sigil, was it blue towers over grey or grey towers over a blue river? "They reside in the Twins… the words are We Stand Forever?" Robb guessed. The House words always troubled him.

"We Stand Together." Luwin corrected. He didn't sound disappointed but he looked it. "What about House Mallister?"

He knew that one at least. "Seaguard, Above the Rest." He wasn't able to have any real focus in anything ever since his father refused him to be a squire. He didn't bring it up to his lord father again as he knew it would be futile and Ser Jaime didn't bring it up with him, neither had he made any mention of it. Then again, the Kingslayer was a man of few words being surrounded by so many Northmen.

Robb gained an approving look from the maester for getting the answer right. "Very good. That's enough for today. Tomorrow we will be going throughout the Crownlands. Perhaps you should ask the princess to help you study."

Robb almost shuttered at the suggestion. He hadn't been that sociable to the princess since her mother, the Queen, had departed. He wasn't sure what to talk to her about. He already showed her the castle and told her everything he thought was interesting. He listened to her talk about the Red Keep and King's Landing.

He set his books aside for the servants to return and left with Theon and Dom. With his lessons done, Robb now had to go meet Bran at the stables.

"Quit sulkin', Stark." Theon shoved Robb off balance, almost making him fall. "Only… what? Seven days left of your sentence?"

"Eight." Robb corrected.

"That's not that long." Domeric said. "How about we go somewhere when you are free?"

That sounded fun. Not somewhere nearby, but maybe to the Wall to see Uncle Benjen or to White Harbor to see what merchants of Essos bring. "Aye, let's do that." Robb was starting to feel sluggish as he got closer to getting outside. "Listen, could you both just join me today? Some company that isn't six years old would be nice."

"Sorry, Stark," Theon apologized, "we got our own prison sentence to serve."

"Shh!" Dom hissed. "Not another word!"

This was intriguing to hear and the first Robb ever heard of some kind of punishment they had had together. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Dom replied, "not a damn thing." He proceeded to wrap an arm around Theon's neck and squeezed it into a lock. As Theon groaned and moaned, Domeric took him away.

Robb was left alone and confused about what they were talking about. They must have done something stupid without him. 'Oh well,' Robb thought. He continued outside and was surprised to see his father helping Bran with the saddle of Bran's pony.

Robb's Lady mother was watching pleasantly but turned when she saw him approaching. "Robb, come walk with me to the gardens."

"But, I have to teach Bran right now."

"Your father will be riding with Bran today. You are free for the afternoon. Now walk with me."

'Thank the gods.' Robb smiled for the blessing he just received. He walked side by side with his mother through the courtyards and she spoke to him.

"Until dinner tonight, I am giving you freedom of your time."

"Really?" Finally, a break from lessons and Bran. "Thank you very much, mother."

"And since you have so much time to yourself now, I think it will be perfect if you spend it with the princess."

'Seven hells!' Robb's face tightened as he sighed disappointed. He didn't feel ready to try and woo the princess. "Mother, couldn't I just wait a while longer? I mean, she's still just a girl."

"And you're still just a boy."

"I'm almost a man though!"

"Almost but not yet. Robb, you have a chance that most sons wish they did. Or do you want to never see and speak to her until your wedding? She'll be a complete stranger to you just as I was to your father." They were just outside of the glass gardens. "Remember to be proper when you present yourself." His lady mother turned to leave, but stopped quickly. "Oh, have you seen Arya anywhere? She's been disappearing after lessons for days now and I can never find her."

Robb shook his head and took a deep breath before entering the glass gardens. The light reflecting through the yellow and green panes made everything seem like a summer in the south. It got warm rather fast and the smells instantly changed from dirt and mud to perfumes of flowers.

Robb walked past many of the flowers and stopped when he came to a school of golden tulips. These were the flower with color close to the princess's hair. He carefully picked three and continued onward to were the apple trees grew. It was there that he found the Princess and Ser Jaime. She had given him a shining red apple he cut up with his dagger and shared with her.

"Ah, Lord Robb." Ser Jaime greeted. The Princess turned around and straightened herself.

Robb gave a curt bow to the princess as one should for royalty. "May I have some time to spend with my betrothed, Ser?"

"Of course, young lord." He didn't budge from where he was though, or give any indication that he was going to leave them be.

"Er… in private, Ser?"

"You think a lion would let a beautiful doe out of his sights? I must do duty and remain vigilant. Don't worry though, you won't even notice that I'm here."

"Uncle, please?" The princess asked. "Don't make me command you to go."

"Unfortunately, that's the only way I can. Would you like me to leave?" He was smirking playfully at her.

The princess huffed and rolled her eyes. "Ser Jaime, I command you to rest from your vigil. You may depart."

Ser Jaime bowed. "As you command, my Princess." He walked to leave the glass gardens but stopped when he came to Robb. "The offer is still open, Stark." He said before leaving.

Robb gave a sharp glance back to the Kingslayer. The offer is still open? His lord father refused to let him, so why would Ser Jaime still be offering? Was Ser Jaime hoping that he would defy his father's orders and accept in secret? It was puzzling him greatly.

He cleared his throat and approached the princess. "Your grace," He said, "I picked these for you. I hope you like them." He offered the tulips to her and it made her smile.

"They are very pretty. I'll have them put in a vase for my room. Would you like to go for a walk?" Myrcella asked, beating him to it.

"Aye- I mean, yes, I would enjoy that with you." He was going to offer and arm for her to hold but she had already begun walking. "Is there anywhere you would like me to take you?"

"Hm… I haven't been to that village outside of the castle yet. What is it called?"

"Winter Town. There's not much to see there though. But the bakery makes some of the tastiest tarts In all the North." They stopped, or rather the princess did when they got to the flowers.

"These blue ones, what are these?"

"Oh, those are Winter Roses. Father says that they bloom the prettiest when it's snowing."

"I've never seen a rose as blue as these." They continued onward but the princess lingered on the roses. "I've read in stories that knights who won tourneys would crown a lady with a crown of those. But whenever we go to a tourney, the winner is given a crown of red roses."

"You've seen tourneys?" This peaked Robb's interest greatly. "Are they any fun?"

The princess nodded. "My uncle Jaime always does the joust but never the melee. Whenever he wins, crowns me Queen of Love and Beauty." She was beaming with joy. "Can you joust, Robb?"

"I've been learning since I was ten. I'm hoping that one day I can go south and take part in a tourney myself. I want to see if I can fair with knights." He felt his fists tighten. "I wish my father would let me squire."

"My uncle hopes you will. In fact he's rather upset that you aren't being allowed to."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm. He told me that a long time ago, he swore to himself that the first green boy who could ever land a hit on him would become his squire. He's never been hit by anyone until you."

So that was why Ser Jaime chose him instead of Domeric. It felt more earning for such an achievement, but it truth it wasn't really a hit. He slipped in the mud and his pommel did little more than tapped into Ser Jaime's side.

"Why won't you're father let you?" The princess asked. They passed through the gates of Winterfell and were on the road to Winter Town which wasn't that far away.

"Because your uncle Jaime is the Kingslayer, that's why." Robb caught glimpse of a little scowl from the princess. It was the first time he ever saw her angry. He cleared his throat and pressed on. "He doesn't want me learning under a bad influence. My honor is more precious than my skill with a sword."

The princess rolled her eyes at him as they continued onward. "My uncle isn't an evil man."

"I never said he was."

"No, just an oathbreaker and a man without honor as people like to say behind his back. Have you ever known anyone who did something that they knew others would think dishonorable, only the reason that they did it was for honor itself?"

Robb thought about his father and how he brought Jon home from the war. His father shamed himself greatly to his mother's family by keeping him in Winterfell. He could have sent Jon to be a ward as Robb's mother had requested many times, but refused no matter what she demanded because as his father put it, Jon was his son.

Robb nods, "Yes, I suppose I do know someone like that. But how does that justify the fact that your uncle murdered his king, the same king he swore to defend with his life?"

"What do you know about the Vows a knight swears? Or the Vows a King swears upon his coronation? Aren't they one in the same? To protect the weak and defend the innocent? To serve the realm? At what point can those vows be considered forfeit based on action or inaction? And if a Knight can forswear his vows, why can't a King? And if such a thing is possible, should a knight sworn to his king continue to follow vows that were sworn to a man who swore to charge him with no duty that would bring him dishonor? What's better, to serve your king with blind loyalty because you said some words, or to serve the people who you swore to protect against those who would see them unjustly harmed?" Myrcella posed the questions as if she had memorized them.

For someone so young, she certainly had a way with words, and Robb found himself truly stumped. Until now, he had only seen things in black and white, right and wrong... he wondered briefly if his father had ever stopped long enough to know more about Ser Jaime's motivations before he passed judgment upon him. "I never really thought to look at it that way." He confessed, falling into an uneasy silence as they continued on their way.

They came into Winter Town and earned many stares from those amazed to be in the presence of the princess. Robb led Myrcella to the bakery and when they got inside, the baker, Georgie, went as pale as Domeric when he saw the Princess Myrcella.

"Milord, and is it 'milady', princess?" Georgie nearly exclaimed.

"You just have to say, my princess." Myrcella instructed.

"Aye, my princess. To what do I owe the honor of your royal presence in my bakery?"

"I was told that you have the best tarts in the whole of the North."

"Oh aye, you caught me at a good time." He went over to a table in the back and brought back a tray of tarts. "Freshly cooked and cooled but still warm. I have apple, blackberry, blueberry…"

"I'll have blackberry. Those are my favorites in King's Landing."

"I'll have one as well, Georgie." Robb said. He presented ten coppers for the two tarts and his hands immediately enjoyed the warmth of the treat. He let Myrcella have the first bite before he ate.

"How do my tarts compare to the ones in King's Landing, princess?"

"Well, the ones in the capitol have a bit more sweetness to them, but these are much more softer. I like these ones just as much."

"You honor me, princess. Unfortunately, sugar and other spices are expensive to order this far North. But, just for you, I can make a batch just as sweet." Georgie gave something of a slow bow and went back to his work, pounding on a huge ball of dough and flour.

When they got outside, Myrcella was eating her tart and looking around. "It's a bit empty for a town so big." It didn't feel empty. There were people coming and going on the roads that went throughout the town. But if they went to the outskirts then it would feel like a ghost town.

"Winter Town's always like this in the spring and summer. But once winter comes, every single house gets packed full." Robb told her. "One year, my brother and I snuck here and planted some stink bombs in a few of the houses." Robb began chuckling at the memory of how hard both of them were laughing. He finished the rest of his tart and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "My father and mother scolded us so much, but it was worth it."

That earned a giggle from Myrcella. "I was starting to think that Bran did nothing but annoy you."

Robb's smile died and he paused. "I was talking about my late brother, Jon."

Myrcella had a small gasp. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to misunderstand."

"It's alright." Robb stopped her. "People don't usually talk about him much, especially my father. He always gets sad whenever people do."

"Jon was your father's natural son, wasn't he?"

Robb only nodded. "He's a Stark just as much as I am."

Surprisingly, he felt Myrcella hold his hand.

"I think it's wonderful that you love him that much." Myrcella said, surprising him.

Normally, Robb would grimace whenever someone mentioned this kind of thing, but this time it actually felt calming coming from her.

"What was he like?" She asked, tentatively.

Robb half grinned. "Honestly, he was quite the sulker, though that was mostly my mother's doing. But he was always the better sword fighter than me. I bet he could have landed a hit on your uncle much quicker than I did." ' _And on purpose rather than on accident.'_ "I think my father would have let him squire."

"You really want to be one that much?" Myrcella asked.

"Truthfully, no. I don't care that much about being a knight, I just want to learn how to be better. Not for pride but for myself, for my family. I want to protect my family and never fail, my brothers, my sisters, my children…" he stopped short when he realized he said one too many things. But instead of minor grimace, Myrcella was looking at him with admiration.

She leaned over and gave him a small peck on the cheek and he felt himself go hot in the face. "I think that's the most honorable reason to do it." They smiled together and walked back to Winterfell. For the first time, Robb felt glad to have spent time with Myrcella.

* * *

Catelyn

She felt herself going as mad as Aerys Targaryen. What kind of mother could not keep track of her own children's movements? Robb was with the Princess, Sansa with her friends sewing, Bran with Ned riding, Rickon was asleep, but Arya… nowhere to be found. And suddenly when it is time for dinner, she appears as if she was never gone.

As tonight's food was being brought out, Catelyn leaned over to her youngest daughter. "Where have you been? I've been looking for you all day." She whispered so her words wouldn't echo.

"I wasn't feeling well. I haven't needed to use a chamberpot for a few days now."

"Ew! Arya!" Sansa groaned. "Don't talk about that at dinner!"

"But mother asked? What was I supposed to say?"

Catelyn sighed at her daughter. "You could have just said that you haven't been feeling well. And if you're haven't troubles in that area of health, go see Maester Luwin about it right now."

"But it's supper time." Arya whined.

Catelyn looked at her curiously. How could a child going days without bowel movements have an appetite? "Go on to see Maester Luwin. I'll have something sent to your room if he says you're alright to eat."

Arya pouted as she excused herself from the table and left the Great Hall. It didn't faze Catelyn though. She'd rather her daughter be mad for a night missing dinner than get even more sick than she already is. Hopefully it was something Maester Luwin could solve or just a bug that would pass quickly.

As soon as Arya was gone, Theon and Domeric had come from their practise. Domeric was spending more time playing the harp, but he chose to play somewhere private given his sensitivity to an audience. Although, it wasn't until recently that he felt that way.

And Theon was doing squiring duties for Ser Rodrick, or rather doing personal improvements privately. No matter, they were here for dinner and they could eat now. Tonight's dinner was roasted ducks. Theon was enjoying it in particular given that he was part of the hunting party that shot them down.

Catelyn noticed that once again, the Kingslayer was sitting far off by himself. He always kept his sword with him as if he expected trouble to befall at any moment. ' _He's either a very cautious man or a diligent guard.'_ At least he was keeping himself under control. In fact ever since the Queen had departed, he had been rather confined in himself except when it came to the Princess and a few other times. It was reminding her of when Jon was with them.

After dinner was eaten and Catelyn was dressed for sleep, she lay under the furs of her bed waiting for Ned to join her. He was at his desk, writing down a final document or letter for the day.

"Ned."

"Yes?"

"Have you noticed that Arya's been acting a bit unusual?"

Ned looked up from his writing in a quick moment of silence. "She's been more cheerful lately. Perhaps her nightmares have been ending."

That was something else. Before the princess came, Arya had been fatigued from lack of sleep throughout the days and had a slight temper. But recently she's been smiling more and happy. "She says she hasn't been feeling well. She's skipping her lessons with Septa Mordane and I can never find her when she does."

Ned finished his writing and poured wax onto the parchment after he folded it. He didn't stamp it however. He got up from his desk and came to bed, resting right next to her. "Perhaps she's found something besides riding that she enjoys. If it helps with her sleeping at night, then I am glad that our daughter is getting better."

Catelyn wasn't convinced though, she felt that maybe it was a little bit more than it seemed.

By morning the next day, she was on her way to check with Maester Luwin to see what it was that was wrong with Arya. When she got there, she found him with Hodor sewing up a wound the simpleton got from a nasty hound bite.

"Hodor," Hodor greeted with a nod of his head.

"Oh, my lady. I'll be just a moment."

"It's nothing urgent, Maester. I was just wondering if Arya was alright."

"Oh? Is something wrong with her?"

Catelyn became concerned. "Did she not come to you last night during dinner?"

"I haven't seen her since yesterday morning. She got a nasty bruise on her arm. She said she tripped in the godswood and fell on a root."

Catelyn's eyes fell to the floor as she wondered what was going on with Arya. "Please excuse me, maester." She said, turning to leave before he could reply, something didn't add up and she found herself moving swiftly in the direction of the one place she normally never would have thought to look. ' _What could that child be doing in the Godswood?'_

She was almost running to find Arya. Something was not right, or rather someone was lying. The moment she set foot in the godswood, she felt the foreboding presence she always did when she came alone. She pressed on though, she had to find Arya.

She first checked by the heart tree, but Arya was not there. Her second thought was to check in the broken tower, but the sound of wood clacking together took her attention elsewhere. She stood among the oaks and pines and just listened to the strange noise that echoed. The clacking was made in a rhythmic pattern. From the sounds of it, it was in the farthest part of the godswood.

She marched past the trees to where the noise was strongest. She could start to hear the sounds of voices too. When she got past a large ironwood tree, she gasped at the sight she saw.

Arya was with Theon and Domeric, and they were practising sword fighting. Arya had her own little wooden sword while the boys had their own but longer. They were going through movements together.

"Arya!" Catelyn exclaimed as she marched to her daughter.

The three children all flinched when they heard her voice. When Theon and Domeric saw Catelyn, they dropped their swords nearly ran away. "You both stay!" She pointed a finger at both of them and they each froze like statues.

Arya gulped as Catelyn came forward. "What do you think you are doing?" Catelyn demanded.

"We were just playing," Arya replied indignantly.

"Don't you dare lie to me." She looked at Theon and Domeric. "You were both teaching her, weren't you?"

Domeric nodded slightly and Arya whacked him in the bottom with her sword. "You arse!"

"Ow! I'm not going to lie to your lady mother!"

Arya scowled at them but then smirked. "Then neither will I. I've been blackmailing them into teaching me." she said.

At that point, Theon ran as fast as he could. It didn't matter though. He had nowhere to go. "Blackmailing how?" Catelyn asked.

"Arya, don't—," Domeric begged but he was refused.

"I caught them peeking at the naked whores!" Arya nearly shouted it to be heard.

Domeric's eyes shut as tight as they could be and he was holding his breath.

Catelyn looked at him coldly. "You will wait outside the godswood until I come out. You will both be punished for this."

Domeric nodded slightly and finally breathed. He picked up the wooden swords and took Arya's from her before leaving.

Catelyn was alone with her daughter. She folded her hands at her waist. Arya was furiously upset and biting her lip. "What did you think you were doing?"

"Nothing."

"Swordplay, is not nothing, young lady." She scoffed at her daughter after seeing all the mud and dirt that polluted the ends of her dress, but she remembered Maester Luwin's diagnosis of her. "Show me your arms."

"No," Arya retorted.

"I'm not asking again."

"Then I don't have to answer again. We both win." Arya smirked, no doubt thinking herself clever.

All Catelyn had to do was grab Arya's shoulder and her daughter hissed painfully. She rolled the sleeve of Arya's dress and gasped when she saw purple bruises riddling Arya's arm. She almost lost her balance at the sight of her daughter so wounded. "You need to see the Maester, right now." Catelyn motioned to force Arya to walk with her but Arya squirmed away.

"They don't hurt that much."

"Whether they hurt or not, you're going to stop this at once."

"But why do boys get to learn but not me?"

"It isn't proper. Women aren't meant to swing weapons and bloody themselves in battle."

"Just in the marriage bed…"

"Arya!" Catelyn snapped. "There will be no more of this. You will stop skipping lessons and put aside these foolish desires."

Tears welled up in Arya's eyes but she didn't cry, she looked too angry to cry. "I hate you!" She ran off in the godswood without another said.

Catelyn sighed as the words stung her. It pained to hear them said so furiously but they were only the words of a child. This would all pass soon and she would forget about it. She felt uncomfortable now that she was alone in the godswood again.

She left quickly in pursuit of her daughter but met only Domeric as she ordered him to wait. He stood silently with his eyes to the ground in shame.

Catelyn stood tall over him. "Be a good lad and find Theon. Until tomorrow, you are both confined to your rooms and will not be receiving lunch and dinner. Tomorrow Lord Stark will deal with you."

"Yes, My Lady." Domeric took a single step but Catelyn stopped him with his words.

"And Domeric. If you do something like this again and I find out, I will have Mikken melt your sword into kitchenware." It was a fake threat, but her words were so stern that she knew Domeric believed them.

As Domeric left to do as he was ordered, Ned's riding party returned and Bran was happily bouncing on his pony. Ned looked happy too, a rare thing to see from him.

Catelyn felt guilty to spoil the moment with bitter news as she approached the stables.

"Did you have fun today, Bran?" Cat asked as she was rushed by her son's smiling embrace.

Ned dismounted his mighty destrier as Bran told her how much he enjoyed today's ride. It was good that he was spending more time with their children. His duties had been taking up far too much of his time.

"Is Robb nearby?" Ned asked his wife.

Cat had half a smirk but also half a frown when the stress of her news for him waited to be said. "He's gone on another walk with the Princess."

"I suppose a father-son hunt will have to wait… What is it?"

Catelyn pursed her lips and swallowed. "Firstly, Theon and Dom were caught peeping at the Winter Town brothel."

Ned's lips twitched to make a grin but it did not happen. He thought this was amusing? "What do you think would be better, kitchen duty for a moon's turn or shoveling up after the horses?"

"Both." Cat said.

"Then so it shall be. What else?"

"They were caught days ago by Arya. Instead of telling us, she decided to blackmail them into teaching her how to sword fight."

Instead of the concern she hoped her husband to have, Ned was starting to laugh lightly. He looked absolutely happy about it. "Is that so?"

"Why do you celebrate such a thing?"

"She's reminding me more of my sister as she grows." His words were soft with a hint of mourning in them but also joy. "I wish they could have met. Lyanna might have been the one teaching her if not the boys." He chuckled.

Catelyn felt a bit angry that she didn't have the heart to argue with that kind of response. "She's run off and I would like you to help me find her."

"I didn't see anyone leave through the south gates when I returned. Perhaps she's somewhere within the castle grounds" They both searched together outside first. They told Ser Rodrick, Jory, and few of the guards to keep their eyes looking for Arya s well. "Did you ask her why she was practicing?" Ned asked. "She's not one to act so intense about things unless they had great importance."

That was true. When she began riding, she would get angry when someone tried to slow her down. "It's not befitting a girl of her position."

"But she's only that, a girl."

"Lord Stark," The Kingslayer stopped as he was walking by, "I couldn't help but overhear you've lost one of your litter, not very good of you to have that happen, is it?" He was looking at the two of them snidely.

"Do you know where our daughter is?" Ned asked.

"With her family, of course, all the ones resting in their cold tombs." He walked away without another word.

The crypts, the only other place in this castle that Catelyn felt she never belonged. Those statues would always stare at her with the judgement that she deserved.

Reluctantly, she walked with Ned down into the darkness that was companion to the silence and the tombs, except there wasn't silence. Echoing through the halls lined with statues of Starks were the sounds of crying.

Ned took the lead as they walked past the tombs. The crying grew louder as did soft words.

"I'm sorry…" Arya would say again and again through her sobbs.

They stopped when Arya was in view. She was sitting down with her knees pulled to her chest and her head buried. The tomb she was at was Jon's.

"Go on," Ned said softly.

"Ned, shouldn't we both?"

"You started this, you have to end it." She knew he wasn't trying to put all the responsibility on her out of stubbornness, but rather honor.

Catelyn strode forward to her daughter and knelt beside her.

"Go away," Arya cried.

"What are you doing here?" She asked softly.

Arya wiped her tears with her sleeve. "It's not a knight in my nightmares, it's him I see die." Catelyn looked up to the statue of Jon. She never forgot the misery in his eyes when he died in her arms. "Father said I have to face my nightmares for them to stop. But I can't unless I know how to fight. I want to save him."

' _Make the boy die, take him away.'_ All the misery that was befalling her family because of one foolish prayer she could not take back. Catelyn put a hand on Arya's back and rubbed it softly. "I didn't think to ask why."

"I just want it to stop." Arya stood to her feet and brushed her dress off. "I'll go see the maester, mother."

Catelyn wanted to chase after her, but she felt so weighed down. "Arya," She called but her daughter didn't look back and kept crying.

Ned met Arya and decided to pick her up in his arms. He waited for Catelyn to join them.

Disappointed in herself, Catelyn got up but first looked upon Jon's statue once more. Her eyes drifted over to Lyanna Stark's tomb. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

* * *

Eddard

After taking Arya to see Maester Luwin, he gave her several ointments. Catelyn then took her for a bath and some hot meals.

Ned however, took to himself, watching his men do some drilling. There was a group of new lads, a few years older than Robb, they were all training playfully and making wages. It was just like what he did with Robert in the Eyrie. They would practise for hours with Bronze yohn Royce, Ser Vardis, and many other Knights of the Vale.

" _How 'bout it, Ned?" Robert asked as they looked to the great valley below and the mountains around. "You and me, we go to every damn tourney for the rest of our lives and win every purse we can."_

" _Heh, be hedge knights?" Ned replied. "Fight for lords, win disputes with steel?"_

" _Travel to Essos and teach those foreigners how a real warriors can fight!"_

Then the raven came. Bran and his father executed, his head was demanded. That day all those silly, boyish desires died, the day he became the Lord of Winterfell and the North.

He sighed as he continued to watch. But his peaceful moments were about to be interrupted by a prowling lion.

"I see your men are hard at work," Ser Jaime said as he approached. His armor was starting to dull from dirt but even then it was the finest set in the whole castle. Mikken was working harder at his pieces at the forge ever since Ser Jaime and Myrcella began their stay. "I don't suppose you ever join them, do you?"

"Not enough these days," Ned replied.

"Hmm, such a shame. I guess I outclass you in skill now. Though I really wish I could have had the chance to fight the man who defeated the greatest Sword that ever lived. I could never even get close to so much as a small cut on Ser Arthur."

"He fought nobly… and loyally."

"Yes, they did didn't they. I wager they were furious of the news of my betrayal."

"Aye. Ser Gerold especially."

"Hm, I figured as much. He did stay may hand that day in the Red Keep. We are Kingsguard, we don't judge the king, we defend him. It was hard to hear through the screams of people burning alive though. I suppose that's why I didn't listen to him." He smirked down at the courtyard. "I think I'll brush up on a few things today." The Kingslayer left to go join the boys drilling, but no doubt he was simply going down to make fools of them. "Oh, by the way, a messenger from my father is waiting to see you at the gates."

Not a raven, but a personal messenger. Ned left to see to the man waiting for him. Sure enough, at the south gate was a man dressed in black and red leathers. He was a scrawny man with black curly hair and half a beard. He was a bit underwhelming to be a servant of Tywin Lannister, but that was in looks. His posture and the way he carried himself were very proud.

"Lord Eddard, I am here with a letter from Lord Tywin regarding the incident involving his men. I have been instructed not to leave until I receive a response." He handed a red leather envelope to Ned and gestured to his bag. "I also have several others for Princess Myrcella and Ser Jaime.

Ned nodded. "You must be weary from your travels, I'll have a room prepared immediately for you."

"You are most gracious, My Lord."

Ned took to his chambers and sat down at his desk. The envelope was fine leather. Leave it to a Lannister to have such a minimal thing cost so much.

The letter he held in his hands was made of standard parchment, yet it felt it had a great weight with the Lannister wax seal on it. Not to mention that messenger directly from Casterly Rock hand delivered this.

'What has the Lion of Casterly Rock have to say?' Ned broke the seal and opened it, reading the finely written words.

 _Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North_

 _I have received word of the crimes my men have committed and dealt with it immediately. The men responsible have been executed and I have sent an emissary with compensense for Lord Wull's loss._

Ned felt disgust rising within him. For Lord Tywin to think that the crimes could be forgiven with gold was a disgrace. He should have sent the men in chains to Hugo Wull instead.

 _Furthermore, in regards to my men being in your country, that has been for the benefit of my granddaughter. As I am sure you are aware, the last Lord from the North that brought home a southren bride from a rich family bankrupted his House and delved into slavery just to please her. I will not be taking such a chance with the Princess Myrcella and sent my best scouts to look for mines. As it stands, there is great wealth beneath the Frost Fangs. Gold, Silver, Iron, Copper, and even Emerald._

 _I am willing to provide you with the locations and my finest men to begin work to harvest the many veins that are there. Should you except I of course will be expecting that we negotiate a percentage to be given back to House Lannister for the services provided._

 _I will be expecting your response in due time at Casterly Rock once you've had some time to take the matter into greater consideration._

 _Tywin of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West._

Eddard set the letter down and rested his chin on a fist as he sat back in his chair. So that's what this was all about. Where there was gold, a Lannister would be sure to seek it out. He didn't know Tywin personal, only having meeting him several times, but he enough to know that he was a man of great ambition and wasn't one to try and lie his way around things. However that didn't mean that he believed that Tywin was doing this for Myrcella's benefit. No, it wasn't just the princess, but his House.

Still, this was a surprise to know that the mountains had many riches beneath it. No one probably notices because they weren't trying to look for them. And with such income, it could fund the many projects Ned had been wanting to begin. Reconstructing Moat Cailin, rebuilding the Northern Fleet, and he was considering fortifying Torrhen's square should the Ironborn try another rebellion.

But there was so much that he didn't trust. Tywin Lannister had been quite the generous man for the past few years as many would see it. He would be sending hundreds of men year after year to the Wall though it was by orders of Robert. More than two thirds of the Watch were made up of men of the Westerlands and sent by the King. Other houses in other kingdoms had taken to such an example and sent men as well, but not nearly as many as as Tywin did.

It was most likely repercussions of the spite between the King and Queen. Jon Arryn would write often telling him of the quarreling between Robert and Cersei. It wasn't whoring or drinking that was causing such turmoil in the Red Keep, but simply Robert's temper. It became a mighty force whenever someone dared to question his orders. He even 'executed' a few of his own castle guard when they said mocking words that weren't meant to be heard by their King.

It had been quite a few months since Ned wrote to Jon. He would be sure to write about the news from Casterly Rock. Jon had experience dealing with the Lannisters, certainly he would have some wisdom to give.

Ned dipped his quill in the inkwell and began to write. But after a few minutes, he was interrupted by a light knock on his door.

"Lord Stark?" Princess Myrcella called. This was a first.

"Come in," Ned replied. He set his quill in the inkwell as the princess entered. "How can I be of service, princess?"

"I would just like a moment of your time, just for a few words."

"Of course, would you like to sit?"

"No, thank you."

"Are you enjoying Winterfell, princess?"

"Very much so. It just took some warming up to. But I've noticed that my uncle still doesn't like it here. In fact, nobody here likes him."

Ned stiffened when he released the subject the princess wanted to discuss. "I would say that it's more of a matter of respect rather than liking, princess. We of the North hold honor in high regards and your uncle has very little of it."

Myrcella twitched but kept a regal figure. "Is it true that you're the one that gave him the name Oathbreaker?"

"Aye," Ned didn't pause or hesitate to answer, if Myrcella wanted the truth, he would give. "I stormed the throne room and saw him sitting upon the Iron Throne while Aerys lay on the floor with his sword in his King's back, the king he swore to protect." He wouldn't beat around the bush. "What you need to understand is that people have different views on things. People judge others differently because of what they believe. I believe in honoring my word to others, I do not take oaths as lightly as I once did in my younger years. Your uncle swore a sacred vow to protect and obey his King. He broke that vow when even after death, three others remained adamantly loyal to their oaths."

"But didn't you forsake your oaths when you rebelled with my father?"

"Had I sworn them when my father and brother were executed. But I did not and I owed no loyalty to Aerys after that that day. A kingsguard's oaths are for life, only death can release them."

The princess started to show signs of mild anger. She began to slowly pace. "Did you not feel the least bit of gratitude for the man who avenged your family?" Myrcella asked.

Ned stiffened at the question. The Princess was stepping where even she did not belong to tread. Regardless, he gave her an answer. "Vengeance is not releasing when someone else takes it in your place." He sighed. "Why do you ask these things?"

Myrcella straightened herself and stood as tall as she could. "I wish for you to allow Robb to be my uncle's squire."

So that's what she truly wanted. "It's good for you to be supportive of my son's wishes, but I will not let him. I do not trust your uncle with the care of my son."

"I do though. My uncle is a good man and a great knight. He's a bit irritating at times, but he's honorable too. You look down on him because he broke his oath to die for his king..." she paused, clearly deciding how to proceed.

When she spoke again, all traces of girlhood were gone, and a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms sat in her place.

"I do hope that you and I can be candid with one another, and I realize that my opinion on the matter might shock you, but if we're to discuss this, I ask your forgiveness in advance."

Ned, not quite understanding where this could possibly be going, decided to give a tense nod. It seemed as if the Lions were giving no quarter today.

"Where were we? Oh yes, my uncle broke his vow to his king by killing him rather than imprisoning him... that's the accusation, am I right?" She asked him, though it wasn't really a question.

Ned found himself nodding yet again.

Satisfied with his response, she continued. "Yet his hands were tied all the same. I suppose that he could have bound and chained Aerys, yet again that would have made him an oathbreaker. But tell me Lord Stark, when does one vow become more important than the next? What about the vows he swore the day he was knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne... to protect the weak and defend the innocent? Tell me, Lord Stark if at some point, you are faced with a choice between serving your King by slaughtering innocents or slaughtering your King to save the lives of innocents, what would you choose? Which choice is more honorable?"

Ned thought about her question, though he wasn't sure how it applies to Ser Jaime's circumstances."There is a huge difference between the hypothetical situation you have laid out and the actual events that lead me to form my opinion of your uncle, princess."

Myrcella cocked her head to the side and for a moment, she appeared to be a mirror image of the Kingsguard in question. "Curious, every time I hear the retelling of that day, I never remember hearing about how the honorable Eddard Stark, my father's best friend, pulled my uncle aside to find out what happened. In fact, the only thing I've ever heard of is how you called for my uncle and my grandfather to be punished for war crimes and oathbreaking." She sat in her chair and eyed him knowingly, her emerald eyes piercing him to his core.

This was a new side Ned was witnessing of the young princess. It was a little imposing, but only a little. "You are right, I was not there, I did not ask why, and I called for the punishment of your uncle and grandfather. Both of them committed unspeakable acts, things that they should have faced justice for, which in my opinion were not pardonable offenses. Because to do so would mean that further transgressions, similar in nature, could be committed with impunity. Why should our people fear the consequences of such actions when our King sees no crime deserving of judgment?"

The Princess did not seem moved at all by his perspective, not that Ned expected her to be. There was more of her mother in her than her father, and they never stopped playing the game. "You answer my questions with more questions. Yet I will not falter in what I believe. My uncle is a good man and a great knight. He broke one vow to save half a million people, and I think that's more honorable than keeping it."

Ned had a sudden moment of stillness. A half a million people? "What do you mean by that?"

"It's what he told me when I asked him about it a long time ago. I once thought like you until he confessed to me the gain of his sacrifice." She got up from her seat. "I do not wish to waste any more of your time, My Lord. Please excuse me." Myrcella said turning around to face the door, leaving Ned speechless and more than a little curious and mayhaps a bit confused.

What did she mean? Was it something that Jaime fed her, to be held in high esteem? Or was there truth to that statement. Perhaps it was time for Ned to ask what he hadn't that day in the throne room. What reason could he possibly have that could justify a Kingsguard killing his king?

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 **Next chapter will be another full Baelgor POV and discoveries are gonna be made! but what kind?**

 **-Keanu Reeves- You're breathtaking!**

 **-The Guest's comment on ch 13- You know your ponies**


	16. Chapter 16

**Apologies for being a day late! Got a new job and now I only have 2 hours a day to be at home to work on this. That, and the bane of many writers is constantly attacking me. Curse you, Youtube! Thanks for all the great responses last chapter! I hope I get more for this one as it does touch on debatable subjects. And then, the twist.**

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Baelgor

 _Even after a steady ride, Baelgor was still exhausted from the battle. Training with his instructors and his uncles was far different than a real fight and war altogether. Still, he found himself feeling victorious for his performance. The Stormcrows succeeded in the defense against the warlord from Yi Ti._

 _But those fighters, Gods they were fearsome. Like frenzied animals released from cages and attacking wildly. If only they wore steel for armor instead of fearlessness._

 _Baelgor's armor was battered and cracked. He left it behind given that it was useless now. He would have a new set made when he got home._

 _Right now though, as he rode steady on the rodes, all he could think about was Shienna and Althor. He was excited to see them again after months of being away for work. The gold was good, but time away felt eternal._

 _He couldn't wait to hold them in his arms again. Althor would surely want some stories and he would certainly get them. But Shienna, he promised her that they would start trying for another child after this. He had no objections and wished they began before he left. He hoped their next one would be a girl just as beautiful as her mother._

 _His thoughts became ecstatic when the city came into sight as he reached the top of a small hill. He couldn't contain himself and whipped the reins of his horse to gallop. 'Almost home.'_

 _He got into the city and rode as fast as safety would allow him to go through the streets without bringing harm to others._

 _But before he got home, a face he was glad to see came into sight. It was his friend, Deakyn. Of the boys he grew up with, they were the best of friends and shared blood. Despite the bond being incredibly thin and a bastard's blood to add, they fact that they were both almost completely opposite in looks, and that Deakyn couldn't use magic, they didn't care. To each other, they were full blooded brothers._

" _Deakyn!" Baelgor called out and halted. He expected a pleasant look from his friend, but instead when Deakyn saw him, he grew morbid._

" _Bael!" Deakyn shoved his way through many people to get to Baelgor. "Bael!" It was when Deakyn got closer that Baelgor noticed the bandage on his arm and a terrible scar on Deakyn's left cheek from the corner of his lip to his ear._

" _Deakyn!" Baelgor dismounted and rushed over to his friend. When they reached other, Baelgor could see just how bad a state Daekyn was in. "What happened?"_

" _I'm sorry, I tried to save them but there were too many. I couldn't-"_

" _Stop! Slow down, breath and collect your thoughts. What happened?"_

" _Slavers!" Deakyn nearly shouted. "They came a six days ago. I tried to fight them off but they did to me. Baelgor, they took Shienna and Althor!"_

 _Baelgor froze. "What?"_

" _They're gone, but I know where they're being taken to. Volantis. We can still get to them before they're sold at an auction."_

 _Everything felt like it was collapsing all around him. Baelgor almost fell down from the shock of everything. But Deakyn's determination kept him upright. He said they still had time to save them. There wasn't a moment to waste._

" _We better get Laekyr." despite the annoying personality, Laekyr's family was influential in Volantis and he was a decent fighter except when compared to Deakyn and Baelgor._

" _He's gone with his father to Yunkai. It's just us."_

 _Baelgor nodded. "I need to go home first."_

" _Home? But-"_

" _You get us a ship, I need to get a family heirloom."_

 _He rode as fast as he could back to his manse. When he got inside, there were many things broken and scars of a struggle. The walls were scorched from flames and there was a bloodstain on the marble floor._

 _Baelgor rushed up the stairs to the second floor and into his study. He went to the chest that contained a great deal of documents and letters. But resting on a plaque above was his family's Valyrian Sword, Fang. He didn't risk bringing it with him to battle. Had he died, some dumb cunt of a sellsword would own it now. But he needed such a weapon in his most desperate of times..._

 _He was a fucking fool. Why, why did he hesitate to kill the priest when he had the chance? Why did he show mercy? His mercy cost him not his life, but Deakyn's. If he killed the priest, he would have discovered that the zealot was carrying a dagger in his robes. If had been just a moment faster, the priest would have died before sticking Deakyn in the back with the dagger. If he had just killed the man, his best friend, his brother, would not be bleeding to death in his arms in Temple of Volantis._

" _Bael...gor…" Deakyn whispered past the blood in his mouth, "I'm sorry…"_

" _Deakyn! No no no no! Deakyn! Deakyn!" It was too late, the light of Deakyn's life was gone from his eyes._

His eyes slowly opened and the emptiness of dream's abyss was gone. He became at ease when he felt the comfort of a pillow under his head. He was back in the room of the Inn. He was in a soft bed but free of a blanket. His doublet was removed but his shirt remained. There was a pitcher next to a basin and a clay cup.

Morghon was laying down on the floor, asleep or resting, but Vedros was sitting next to the door of the room while whittling at a piece of wood. He was making what looked like a pendent or a token of some sort. He stopped when he noticed Baelgor awaken.

"How long was I out?" He felt so weak and heavy, but also hot. He had a fever overtaking his whole body. The repercussion of his oath were still running its course

"Six days." Vedros said. He got up and went to the pitcher and poured a cup of water. Instead of giving the cup to Baelgor, Vedros poured it directly into his mouth. The water was lukewarm, but it felt ice cold given how hot the fever was.

He moved to sit himself up, but Vedros shoved him down hard back into the bed. "You, rest."

"I've rested too long."

"Your skin's as hot as fire." Vedros poured a small amount of water into the cup and splashed it on Baelgor's face. Immediately, the water evaporated into steam. "I nearly burned myself carrying you here. Thank the gods for the rain that night."

Baelgor grumbled as he slowly lifted his legs over the side of the bed. "It will pass. What have you two been doing since?"

"Hoping you aren't dying. We had several healers come and go and they all said the same thing. You're fever isn't natural and they couldn't do a thing to help. What in seven hells is happening to you?"

Baelgor sighs and buried his face in his hands. "Consequences of learning magic. These effects are a punishment for nearly breaking my blood oath. Had I gone through with them, I'd be dead right now." Slowly and carefully, he pushed himself on his feet. A great wave of lightheadedness nearly made him fall over.

Morghon shifted around before lifting his head up. When he saw Baelgor awake, he sprung to his feet. 'Will you be alright?'

Baelgor nodded. He looked over to the corner of the room where his grey and orange coat, woven bracers, and his sword belt were. He noticed that there was a new dagger resting in a scabbard next to Fang. Like his coat, the wooden handle was cloudy grey but the fittings were brass tempered red. His hand went to his chest and he could feel the ring still hanging on the black thread it was tied to. "I feel like an old fart for asking this, but help me dress."

Vedros smirked as he and Morghon went to get his things. "You don't have to feel that way, you already are."

When they got his clothes and belt on him, Baelgor took a moment to have one last drink of water. He almost drank all that was left in the pitcher and didn't care that much of it ran down his cheeks and spilled onto his shirt. It felt refreshing. When he finished, he nearly slammed the pitcher down.

"Need more. I need some ice."

"Ice…" Vedros confirmed skeptically. "If you know anywhere in the fucking desert where it gets cold enough, I will gladly get some for you."

"Really? I have your word?"

Vedros' skepticism died out when he realised Baelgor was being serious. "Don't tell there's a place."

"If you can't find a place cold enough in the lands of eternal sun, then you have to make a place." There were some buildings in every major city in Slaver's Bay that could produce ice even on the hottest days. Buildings that went hundreds of feet into the ground and water would freeze at the bottom. "How much coin do we have left?"

Morghon shook his head. 'We nearly spent every piece we had for healers and the room.'

Wonderful. No coin, no ice and no wine either. He had to just tolerate his heat spell until it passed. It had at most one more day before it would disperse. "More water,"

Vedros nodded and took his leave to fetch some more. It felt nice to have a cup bearer again.

He looked at Morghon. "Six days. Is your sword ready?"

Morghon shrugged. 'I do not know. I have not gone to see.' he signed. 'Too worried about you.'

"Come on then. You fools wasted enough coin, might as well get what we have left."

'Not yet, I want to know… who are A-L-T-H-O-R and S-H-I-E-N-N-A?'

Gods be damned, why did this boy have to stick his nose where it did not belong. Baelgor shook his head. "No one you need to care about. They're dead. Leave it at that."

'Was that place your home?'

"Enough. That place does not matter any more."

'I want to know-'

"I said enough! My past does not concern you. It's ashes now, do you understand?" Why did they have to come to Tolos? Why did his past have to come back to haunt him?

Vedros return and without using a cup, Baelgor drank down as much as he could and splashed the rest of it over his face. The coolness lasted a few seconds before it evaporated. "Let's get what we need and leave this place already."

"I don't think we have the coin."

"Do we still have the horses?"

"Aye."

"Then we'll sell them and get cheaper ones. Use the profits for food and other things. First, we get his sword back."

Once the tiring journey out of the inn was completed, Baelgor was feeling stronger than before. It was still blisteringly hot in his body, but he could bear with it. He led his disciples through the morning markets, ignoring the desire for something to savor his hunger. Food was the last thing he needed right now. He had to be patient.

They came to the street of smiths and crafters. It was less busy than it was six days ago. It was no bother, it just made it easier to navigate and see any unwanted persons that might be near like Laekyr.

They came to Maelthew's forge at a rather exciting time. Maelthew had just tackled some man, a thief no doubt, into the street and tore away a dagger and sheath both decorated with gold and silver. Maelthew proceeded to unsheath the dagger and cut of the thief's thumb and index finger of his right hand.

As the thief wailed and yelled out in pain, Maelthew hoisted him up to his feet and gave a hard kick in his ass, sending the thief running and bleeding down the street. Maelthew finally noticed Baelgor and the boys and looked pleased to see them.

'Ah, you're back.' Maelthew wiped the blood of the blade of the dagger with a cloth he had at his side. 'I have something I am very excited to show you.'

Baelgor sent the boys in to get Blackfyre and waited outside. It was too damn hot as it was, he didn't need to suffer the heat of the forge as well.

He was leaning against the corner to an alleyway across from the forge, wiping sweat off his forehead. 'Gods, I could water a jungle with all of this…'

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of scarlet red cloth at the other end of the alley. He turned his gaze to it and saw a young Red Priestess kneeling down to a sickly beggar with a water pouch, feeding him like he was a babe in need of a teat to suckle. She was barely a woman, but still a damn worshiper of the Red God.

Anger swelled within and his blood boiled more than it was already. Perhaps it was a good time to see if his new knife was worth the price Morghon paid for it. The priestess was facing away from him, so there was no need to hide as he approached her. He touched the tips of his fingers to the handle of the knife and itched to draw it.

It was good that the boys weren't around. They do not take his actions well whenever he tastes vengeance against the Red God. Several times in their travels together, blood of the Red God's disciples had been spilled by Baelgor. Vedros didn't shut up about it for days while Morghon just did as he was, never saying a thing even with sign language.

He stepped lightly as to not make a sound that would alert her. When he was getting close enough, he gripped the handle and drew the knife slowly. It was time to give the blade its first taste of blood.

'One less monster,' he would tell himself, 'one less monster…' His presence became known when the sickly beggar became frightened and directed the priestess's attention to Baelgor. She gasped when she saw the knife and spread her arms across to be like a shield for the beggar. Her glance narrowed at him, she knew who he was, which meant she had to die if he wanted to remain hidden. Fool, she was just another fool.

But when he swung the knife down, a sword swiped from behind and knocked it out of his hand. Morghon rushed forward and stood between him and the priestess with Blackfyre raised up.

'No more!' Morghon signed. 'You will stop this!' From behind him, the priestess quickly helped the beggar to his feet and they fled from the alley together. 'No more murder!'

"Do not defend what you know nothing of, boy!" Baelgor did not dare try anything that would be a potential harm to Morghon. If he did, then the blood oath would be dishonored and death would befall him. "Get out of my way." He had to kill the bitch now that she's seen Morghon. She would alert other followers and they would summon hunters after them.

Morghon shook his head.

"She knows who I am. They all know that you're traveling with me. They are going to send more hunters after us again!" It wasn't easy to evade the last group sent after them by the Red Followers. This time they would send someone who knew what they were doing.

Something hard suddenly hit Baelgor from behind in the side of his head. When he fell to the ground, Vedros was standing there his axe drawn. "You dumb shit! Enough of this!"

He grasped at his temple where Vedros his the butt of his axe against. He stood up and could only clench his fists in anger. "You two… this time if they find us again, it's on your actions that caused this!"

"No, you're the one who tried to kill her." Vedros argued. He shook his head at Baelgor. "I'm done with all this." He slotted his axe in his belt. "You said you'd protect him, but how can you when your idiotic hatred jepordizes his safety?"

"Idiotic?" Baelgor had half a mind to draw Fang right now and plant it right into Vedros' throat. His oath did not apply to this annoying bastard. ' _Dammit. Fine, have it your way.'_

But instead, Baelgor walked back the way they came. "Come on. I want to show both of you something."

"Where?" Vedros asked.

"Home."

He couldn't avoid keeping his past from them anymore. It was time they learned why he murdered the Red God's followers without prejudice or righteous purpose.

The entire walk, Baelgor kept pondering how they would judge him after today. He knew what he was and he didn't care, but what would they see him as? A man with an unquenchable thirst for vengeance or a murdered consumed by revenge?

They came unto the ruins of his manse once more. Baelgor led the two of them through the charred remains to his backyard and the silver maple that grew.

He stood by the tree but dared not place a hand on it. He would not risk his touch setting fire to the last memory he had of his old life. "I've told you both about my House, but not my family. When I was a boy, I grew up here with my family. There were a dozen of my kin that lived here until a sickness overtook them. My father, my brother, my uncles, and all but one of my cousins died within a fortnight after catching the sickness." To him, he called it the sickness Long Farewell after the poison of the same name and similar nature. For years he wanted to believe it was poison and not a sickness, but there was no evidence

He looked over to a handprint made by a feminine hand. "This was my cousin's mark. She made hers the day before I did. A year later, we were the last of our family. We married and had a son, Althor. I think he would have been your age by now." He looked down to Morghon.

He reached his hand over his baby boy's hand print but didn't touch it. He tried to remember Althor's joy and happiness when he cast his first spell so young. He tried to remember the smile of his son. But he couldn't. He could only see his wife and son's flesh and bones burning in the fires of those fucking priests.

"I left for a job one day. A few months later, I found out slavers had stolen and sold them to the Red Priests in Volantis. I went with my friend to go save them. He was killed and I was taken captive." To this day, he never found out who it was that told the slavers or the priests about them. He looked down to Morghon. He felt himself grow dizzy and lightheaded from his rage boiling within. "How old were you when you took a knife to the heart?"

'Eight.' Morghon replied.

Baelgor began to tremble imagining Morghon's death. What kind of people had the will and sick minds to murder a child? "My son was five when they threw him into the fire with Shienna." His hand tightened into a fist and he fell on his knees once more, this time in tears. "I watched helplessly as my wife and baby boy burned alive… it's all I can see when I try to remember them! They were murdered for a stupid, fucking vision!"

It was a vision he could never forget and always haunted him when he remembered. In the bright of the flames was utter darkness save for a pair of eyes that glowed blue and cold.

And after that… he never could explain to himself why.

"When I came back, do you know what they did after I killed all the ones that partook in the murder? They tried to ransack my family's home, they tried to steal everything I had left. So I burned it all to the ground. I burned every fucking one of them. They murdered my family and ended the last hope for the legacy of my House to survive." He never allowed himself to marry again and bear any more children. He could not bear thinking of Shienna and Althor like replaceable objects.

"They told me that their sacrifice would save the world from death and darkness. But why should I care about their world when mine was burned into ashes?" He looked back to Vedros who looked conflicted on how he should be taking this "Do you understand now? These people burn innocents alive in the name of their god. They are evil, and yet you still stop me."

Morghon tapped on Baelgor's shoulder for attention to be brought. 'That does not mean they are _all_ evil.'

"As long as there are those who preach the teachings, wear the robes, and light the fires for living sacrifices, they deserve to die."

"How can you believe that?" Vedros asked. "You think a woman helping a poor man deserves death? Yes there are extremists in the ranks but all the ones like her just preach and provide to the people."

"These preachers do what they have to buy the trust of the people! They follow generocity with lies that they will believe to the very core. And when enough people believe them, the difference between murder and holy sacrifice goes uncared, undisturbed, and unpunished."

"They are just men and women following orders from their leaders."

"Thousands throughout history have been at the mercy of others just following orders." He looked down to Morghon. "What if that assassin killed your sisters instead of you?" He let the words sink into Morghon's head, giving the boy time to picture it. "Would you be satisfied if you just killed him? What about the one who sent him? What about the others that simply stood by and allowed it to happen?"

"Shut up!" Vedros shoved Baelgor to the ground. "Whatever the reason you give, it won't justify an innocent being guilty for your revenge!"

Baelgor turned over and sat up. "What would you have me do then, hm? Go to Volantis and apologize? Offer peace?"

"No, just leave them be."

"Leave. Them. Be. Yes, a great answer. Leave them be so that they can find others they can sacrifice, to pay off slavers to do kidnapping for them… I showed mercy once and lost a brother because I did."

Morghon knelt down to Baelgor. 'Do not murder, but do not stand by when bad things happen. Do allow yourself to be consumed by the want of revenge.'

It was no use trying to convince these two fools and neither was it any use trying to convince him. They were still too attached to the morals of their home, to honor and other shit that becomes the downfall of many. But it was also what made them better men than he. They were trying so hard to help him be a person he once was, but they couldn't see that it was too late for that.

Baelgor conjured the flames of his fingers to shift into his palm and take the shape of a small dragon of fire. Whenever he did this, the conjured creature almost had a certain life of its own. It growled at him and flared its wings up.

Baelgor moved his fingers and the dragon would crawl between them. "You will never truly realize how precious a life you love is until your happiest moment." He sent the dragon to fly over to Morghon's hands. The young mute open his palms ready to receive the dragon without realizing or caring he would be burned by the flames. Baelgor stared off to the afternoon light of the sun. "And you never live with more regret when it disappears before you." Without looking, he diminished the flames of the dragon into nothing just before it would touch Morghon's hands, or at least he meant to.

When he looked back to Morghon, Baelgor's eyes widened, his breath was lost from him, and he could not believe that his fire dragon was still alive in Morghon's hands without burning the boy. Morghon was staring into the burning eyes of the dragon closely before the false creature finally dispersed.

Baelgor moved over to Morghon and checked the boy's hands. Nothing, no marks, no burns, nothing. Something inside sparked, something that he lost long ago, when he saw what he had just witnessed. It cracked though his rage and filled him from skin to the marrow of his bones. Hope. "That's not possible… How did you do that?"

Morghon shrugged and signed. 'Do what?'

Baelgor gave an unbelieving smile. "I diminished it before you touched it… you kept the dragon alive." But how, Morghon was a son of House Stark, a House of barbaric and ancient men.

"What are you getting at?" Vedros asked.

"What do you think? He can perform magic."

"What? I thought you said only Valyrians can."

Both of them turned their heads to Morghon who was just as surprised as they were. Baelgor looked hard at Morghon. He knew a little about the First Men and how long ago they possessed certain types of magic, but that was the magic of the Old Gods. To conjure and control fire was born in Valyria. Was this why the Red followers wanted him? To control this power and make their own? "You're father's a Stark, but who is your mother?"

Morghon's surprise turned into glumness. 'I do not know.'

"Your father never told you who she is?"

'I do not know who my mother is. I do not know where she is. I do not know if she is alive.'

Dammit. The only Houses of Westeros of Valyrian Blood are the Targaryens, Velaryons, Celtigars, and the Baratheons. Perhaps Ned Stark had a swing with one that shared blood with one of those Houses. Or perhaps a woman from Lys… no, those pitiful people brag too much on their great descent without considering how thin that blood tie has become.

Regardless, Morghon can perform magic. This was something Baelgor wished he knew a long time ago. So many years wasted. Oh well, better late than never now that he has the chance. "Follow me."

Baelgor led them into the ruins of his home, to where the library once was. He looked over to the east wall, or where it once stood. He could remember half the books that lined the shelves here. All of them had more value than the richest of Masters.

Burned beams and blocks of stone cluttered the floor in the spot he was looking for. "Right here, help me with this." The three of them pushed and pulled off all the rubble they could, dirtying themselves without care. Under it all was a square slab of stone measuring a yard each side that made the floor and carved into it was an artwork of flames.

Baelgor drew Fang and stabbed the tip between the gaps of the slab and used all of his strength to pry. But his first attempt was foolish given his lingering fever. His strength slipped as did the feeling of his nerves and he collapsed. "Ugh… Vedros, open." He muttered as he sat up.

Vedros took his place and on his first attempt, the slab scraped against the ones surrounding it and it budged upward a little. On the second try, the tip of Fang went under and the slap was propped open. Morghon grabbed underneath and shoved it aside, revealing the supports underneath that held it there and the door beneath it.

"The library and books are gone…" Baelgor said as he got back to his feet and took Fang. "Except for one." He crept down to the panel door beneath the floor. The steel ring that was the handle was rusted and the wood was brittle and nearly burned. With one tug, the hinges creaked and broke off, exposing what was beneath.

Baelgor shoved the door away and descended down a ladder of stone carved into the foundations of the room below. Vedros followed after him and Morghon after.

"What is this?" Vedros asked.

"A vault." Or at least an entrance to the vault, though the darkness and the stale atmosphere made it feel more like a tomb. Baelgor snapped his fingers and his white flames formed. Instead of keeping his hand lit for light, he made the fire leave his fingers and hover in front of them.

The hallway wasn't long but it was narrow enough that only two people could walk side by side through it. Bealgor kept Morghon next to him and Vedros at the rear as they walked down a small set of steps and came to the great stone door that guarded the treasure behind.

The light of the white flames reflected off of the metals that made the locking mechanism of the door. It was all built long ago by a person forgotten to the world along with their knowledge of how to make such a magnificent invention. What remained was the knowledge of how to open the lock. At first glance, one would think that there was no lock for there was no keyhole but also no key to begin with.

Instead there was a plate of metal at the center of the mechanism, that way the lock that only those with the blood of dragons could unlock.

Baelgor placed a single hand on the metal plate and focused as much of the heat of his fever to increase the heat of his magic. After a single minute, the plate had expanded enough from the heat. Baelgor pushed on the plate and it went into the door. The hinged groaned and the mechanisms clicked for a few seconds. A loud, deep crank was made and then the noise stopped. Door starting to move on its own. It was slow at first but it quickened. It swung on hinges into the vault and stopped suddenly.

The hovering flames followed Baelgor as he stepped into the vault for the first time since he was a boy. His father had brought him and Shienna here after they made their marks on the maple. And just as his father showed him and Shienna, Baelgor would show Morghon and Vedros the greatest treasure in the world.

There was no gold, no jewels, nor any form of currency or expensive trinket inside. There was only a single pedestal of mahogany wood inlaid with brass and copper. Resting on the pedestal was a book of impossible craftsmanship. Valyrian steel made up the cover, backing, and spine of the book. Instead of precious metals, jewels were inlaid into the steel, but the way they were was as if they were done as metal would be. Lines of rubies and amber created the shapes of flames and dragons across the cover that sparkled in the light of the white flame. Magic was used to make the beauty of the book just as it had been used to make the beauty of the ring that hung from Baelgor's neck.

But the richness of the cover was nothing compared to the pages within. This was the last book of the Aekylosh library, a book of magic.

Baelgor gently placed two hands on it and lifted it up like a newborn babe. He gave a light blow over the cover to rid it of the dust that gathered over the years. All that remained of his once mighty and proud House were what he carried now. Himself, his sword, and the book.

He spent so many hours of his younger life studying the pages and the secrets they told. If only he had the might and capacity his ancestors did to wield such a force at its fullest potential. All he could muster were small spells and conjurer's tricks that were barely greater than some fire jugglers near Qarth.

But Morghon, to be able to keep a dragon apparition as the one Baelgor made without even trying to… why? Was it a gift bestowed on him upon his resurrection if not blood? No, it could not be that. The magic of Valyrians was harnessed from the dragons they tamed. The Lord of Light's magic was harnessed from blood sacrificed.

"This book contains everything my family recorded of the magic we used. How to harness it, tame it, bend it into what you believe only dreams can do." He turned his head over to Morghon. "I will teach my magic to you, Jon Snow."

Morghon flinched. He must have forgotten the sensation of hearing his real name after five years. He would learn and become the successor that Baelgor thought he would never find.

But Morghon shook his head. 'No.'

"What?"

'I refuse to learn from you.'

"But… this isn't me offering something that any moron with some spare time can learn. You are one of the few people in the whole world who can actually use this."

'I will not do it unless you make another blood promise.'

"Another? For what?"

Morghon looked at him dead in the eye. 'No more murder.'

This little bastard. How could ask him of such a thing at this moment. "Please don't ask that of me."

'No murder or no magic.'

Eight years of his life was driven by revenge and vengeance. It was all he had to give him purpose… until today. Before the burning, all Baelgor had that he could give was his knowledge. When the chance died with his wife and son, another part of him died. But seeing Morghon holding a dragon of flames in his hands. If he could have the chance to save what was left of his family's legacy…

But what about what he lost? Shienna, Althor, Deakyn, his home, all of it taken by the Red Religion. Was he just going to end such an endeavor just like that? 'Yes.'

He set the book down and drew his knife. Without hesitation, he cut his palm and uttered the words and let them burn him as the pain did. His blood ignited in white flames for three seconds before fading away and cauterizing the wound. It was done. He blinked for a moment and realized what he just did. His search of blood to spill was now over.

"Wait… what?" Vedros said aghast. "After all that ranting… what?"

Baelgor simply shook his head. "You'll never understand what this means. You never have and you never will." He looked straight to Morghon. "Will you let me teach you?"

Morghon responded. 'Yes.'

They had to begin as soon as they could. There was so much to be learned yet so little time to do it on the way to Mantarys. First, Baelgor needed to find someone to help him get half the answers to the questions he had. Luckily the next destination was full of the type of people he was looking for. After that, Eddard Stark will give him the rest when they get to Winterfell.

* * *

 **What do you think? For such a sudden revelation, can any of you relate to such a change of desire like this? This is probably a quicker 180 than Daenerys turning MAD Queen in that million dollar fanfiction. But coming up we'll delve more into why it's so important to Baelgor to keep his family's magic alive.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Another late release, forgive me, I bow in shame and apology. I finished this last night but I got far too tired to post, I'm sorry everybody. Before we begins I have just few announcements.**

 **Firstly, I changed the rating of the story from T to M because of the obvious language, the violence, and the PG rated sex scenes. That doesn't mean that things are going to get more graphic, they're going to stay as is. So no smut is going to be featured but there will be brief nude scenes.**

 **Secondly, Wednesday will be the new day for updates.**

 **Thirdly, to the guest who comment on chapter 10 about Jon's education, even I misspell words from time to time and I'm 22. Jon's just got out of school early**

 **Now enjoy the chapter and have a happy thanksgiving tomorrow and safe Black Friday shopping!**

* * *

Daenerys

A wave of laughter erupted from the audience that watched the performers give a theatrical display of a duel between a King and a mighty knight. After refusing the King passage across a bridge, the knight engage in combat and lost an arm as a result, but that did not stop him from fighting. The brave or foolish knight did not falter in ferocity but the weight of his sword slowed his movements and after a failed thrust, his other arm was lopped off with a single stroke of the King's magical sword.

Daenerys laughed with everyone as the performance went on. It was a rare occasion that she and Viserys got to stop and enjoy themselves in the Free Cities. In Norvos, the people stood out most distinctly among the rest of those they had come across in their travels so far.

When they were in Lorath, the people were mostly barefoot even though they dressed in such fine clothing. But here, Almost every person was shaved clean of hair. The richer folk, more specifically the women, wore wigs.

Daenerys didn't want to get her head shaved when the Magister that invited to host them in the city offered it to her. Viserys took her refusal as a form of insult but luckily it was not enough to wake the dragon.

She was fond of Magister Daro Hiathies. His appearance reminded her much of Ser Willem. Though it was hard to remember much of Ser Willem and the house with the red door and the lemon tree. She wished that Viserys could have taken her back to Braavos and maybe they could find a way to live there again.

While she watched and enjoyed the comedy performances by a troupe of traveling actors on the lower section of the city, Viserys was in the middle of a meeting with a Prince from Qohor. He was rather optimistic about this meeting, though the last few had ended the same. Riches and power in return for an army and loyalty. Viserys knew what to say to have many interested but that interest would fade within a year.

First it was sellswords but no company was large enough that could combat against the Usurper and his dog's army. The Golden Company refused Viserys the previous year, even when he gave the captains and the generals a feast. An army of Westerosi exiles should have jumped at the chance to return home. But they were a force created by bad blood of House Targaryen. If Viserys could sway the Prince from Qohor, then he would have an army within his reach.

The scene had ended and applause was given. Daenerys wished she could stay for the rest, but Viserys had told her that she could not be out for long.

She had a single guard provided by the Magister. His name was Eustace but some of the other servants and slaves of the Magister called him Eustace the Useless given how he was more brawn than brain. Instead of a sword or a spear for weapon, he carried something that was a combination of both. His weapon had a long wooden shaft that went just above his head and a blade that was as long as a shortsword. It was simply called a swordstaff.

Daenerys walked with him to return back to the Magister's manse. It was going to be a long walk, but she enjoyed the streets of Norvos. It was always so festive and full of life. Some of the houses had small gardens of flowers and other plants like herbs and small trees.

She paused when she heard the sounds of a man singing and a harp being played. Down another street was an elderly man sitting down and strumming his fingers along the strings of a simple wooden harp. His old age did not show in his voice, for he sang beautiful melodies.

"Is something wrong, princess?" Eustace asked. He looked down the street where the man sang. "Is that beggar bothering you?"

"No, the opposite in fact. He's a wonderful musician." From what Viserys told her, their brother Rhaegar played a harp hand crafted just for him and sang as well. But also that Rhaegar was a better fighter than a musician.

"Bah, if he were truly wonderful then he'd be up on that stage like those actors."

She didn't believe that. If someone could give that man a chance to be on a stage then he would have just as much of an audience as those performers did. She would leave hm some coin if she had any. Viserys didn't trust her to carry money for reasons like that.

Back at the manse, a great big pearlescent stone building, one of the female slaves from Lys met Daenerys and Eustace at the entrance to the grounds.

"Princess, you are summoned to the company of King Viserys and the Prince of Qohor."

'What? Viserys never lets me attend these meetings.' Perhaps her brother thought she was becoming more trustworthy to be a part of his plans to take their homeland. "I will attend immediately."

She found a long mirror Daro had in the atrium of hs manse and made sure that she was presentable enough. Her yellow dress was clean of dirt as was her skin and her hair was done neatly. She took a deep breath and stood as tall as she could before entering the commons.

Viserys was dressed in black and red leathers and his hair was tied back into a tail. He sat up straight and was as Kingly as one could be. The Prince of Qohor, on the other hand, was rather relaxed. He was a tanned skinned man with robes of white and bright orange threads. He had a curved knife at his belt and his short hair was black as midnight. He looked older than Viserys, probably by ten years.

"Ah, sweet sister, I'm glad you made it so quickly. Come, join us."

Before Daenerys sat herself down, the Prince stood up to greet her. She offered her hand to him and the Prince gave a slick smile as he took it and layed a light kiss on her knuckles. "You are very beautiful, princess."

"Thank you. And what name must I address you by?"

"I am simply a Prince to you and the King of Westeros, the rightful King." He continued to look at her with his dark eyes as he took his seat and Daenerys took hers.

"Daenerys," Viserys said, "do you remember the stories I told you of the Unsullied of Qohor?" The story of how three thousand soldiers held their ground against fifty thousand mighty Dothraki.

"Yes, you told it to me often when we were in Pentos." Another of Daro's slaves, a man with a shaved head and black collar, brought a silver pitcher of wine and poured a goblet full for each of them.

"If all goes well today, then the Prince of Qohor will become our most loyal of followers with an army of Unsullied and more."

The Prince gave a courteous smile. "If we reach an agreement, of course."

"You have heard my offer. what say you?" Viserys asked.

"What offer?" Daenerys asked.

"Lands, title, wealth, all shall his to choose when I take back my throne. The traitors who fought against us will have no use for them when their heads are mounted on spikes that decorate every structure. All of that… and more." Viserys words were spoken sweetly.

The Prince smiled. "All is very generous for loyalty and too much, even for a Prince as myself. But I have to hear who else has pledged their support to your campaign." he drank his wine and awaited an answer.

"There are several others in powerful positions such as yours that I have treated with. All have been offered just as you have been except for certain conditions. I find that only the most loyal deserve the greatest of rewards."

"Very good, but I was expecting a number and how many have actually pledged to your cause."

Viserys shifted and cleared his throat. "None have sworn their armies to me yet. But once they see that you have joined my cause, more are sure to follow. Your army will be one among others and a fleet shall be given when we are ready to strike. And when we land, the Houses that remained loyal to my father in the war will join my campaign." He spoke with such optimism and ambition

The Prince merely smiled with disappointment and shake his head looking down. "I doubt that given your current state of affairs. And I doubt the Houses of Westeros would turn their allegiance."

Viserys' pleasant mood instantly shifted. He was growing irritated. "How dare you think to doubt me! I am the King of Westeros and I have powerful friends waiting for the moment that I am ready to take back my throne!"

The Prince slouched back with his wine goblet in hand. "King Viserys, I don't say such things because of what I see at first glance, but what I have studied of you during my journey here. Did you know that when I was a boy I learned under the tutelage of the Iron Bankers in Braavos. Their teachings have taught me well. When I approach a situation, I look at the numbers. Right now, it is just you, your lovely sister, and a dozen promises. But no army. Now, for the sake of argument, I will assume that there truly are loyal houses to yours still in Westeros. How many, how large? Well, I confidently assume that Dorne would rally to you in want of vengeance for the death of Princess Elia and her children. But as history has shown, the moment they set foot outside of their homeland, they are no longer a force to be reckoned with. They were broken and defeated by Northmen, Knights of the Vale, and Rivermen. And what other houses? Not the Reach after failing to Break Stannis Baratheon and swearing fealty to Robert Baratheon. Minor houses? That would give, maybe a few thousand, at the most? All in all, that would be just under twenty thousand. A mighty force, and when combined with my armies and my legion of Unsullied it almost doubles. But it wouldn't be enough. King robert's armies would outnumber your eight to one. And while my Unsullied are mighty, fighting alongside multiple armies weakens their unity. So you can see why I am skeptical to join your cause."

Viserys leaned forward with his palms on the table in front of him. He was seething and trying his best to remain calm. "You don't seem to understand. In order to rally the other leaders such as yourself to my cause, I need an army. Those numbers will increase once they see a mighty man as yourself at my side."

The Prince simply smirked and sipped his wine. "I wouldn't hold on to whatever they promised you to believe. I will stand by my decision." he set his goblet down and stood. "So many armies with so many leaders is like a shield with many cracks. If there's just one, it will still hold in battle, but too many and it breaks apart. If you want others to rally to you, you'll need more than promises at your side. You need loyal men with command and respect at your side." He turned to leave, but suddenly stopped and raised a finger. "I thank you for you hosting me, your grace. And I won't let it go without gratitude like others have. I know of a man who might join you out of loyalty. He was once a knight of your homeland, but now he's a man without a purpose.

it's better than nothing…"

"I do not need worthless hedge knights at my side, I need an army!"

The Prince merely shook his head and walked away. "Then I wish you luck, your grace."

When the Prince was gone from the room, Viserys through a bowl of fruit across the room and yelled out. "That insolent wretch of a man! He thinks a prince is above a king? A dragon!?"

Daenerys braced herself in case her brother's fury would trail over to her. But Viserys instead directed it over to a slave whom he slapped hard across the cheek, earning a yelp from the woman.

"Don't just stand there, get me something to drink! Wine!"

"Y-yes, y-your grace." The women stuttered before running off to do as ordered.

Viserys' gaze turned over to Daenerys. She quietly held her breath waiting to see what he would do next.

He merely scoffed and sat back down on the sofa. "These men are fools. Who could refuse lands and riches greater than the miserable things they already have? When I take back our home and my throne, I will return here and remind them all what happens to those that think to mock the dragon." He reached a hand over to Daenerys's hair and stroked it softly. "Such beauty, just like our mother." He had a smile for only a second before it became a frown. "Leave me."

Daenerys didn't hesitate to get up but made sure that she didn't just rush out. She rejoined Eustace and decided to return to her room.

But as she passed by the hallways leading to the entrance the Manse, she noticed the Prince of Qohor talking with Daro. The way the Prince spoke of the knight he knew, he wasn't speaking with pity or if Viserys was that desperate, his offer felt genuine.

It made her think of the musician she saw in the streets. He was not glamorous or given a grand audience, yet his music was still beautiful to hear. All he needed was a stage to be heard by many.

She approached the Prince and Daro and both of them stopped their conversation when they saw her.

"Princess," the Prince gave bow with his head, "I would offer apologies but given that I've only spoken truth, it would be against my character."

"I was not going to ask for apologies, instead offer them myself on behalf of my brother, the rightful King of Westeros. But I would also like to accept the offer you gave. If my brother will not accept the service of a knight loyal to our House, then I shall." This would cause some discontent with her brother, but she had to do it. They just needed to gain supporters one at a time, not thousands all at once.

"Very well. I will inform him of your seeking loyalties. I wish you the best of luck, Princess. Daro," He turned to the Magister, "always a pleasure. I'll see you on the morrow." The Prince then excused himself from the manse.

"He's not returning to Qohor?" Daenerys asked.

"Oh, by the gods, no. Not immediately. No one would ever journey hundreds of miles for a single meeting not even an hour long." Daro chuckled heartily to himself.

Daenerys felt embarrassed at that remark. She and Viserys had done than multiple times in their travels.

* * *

Catelyn

' _Let him live and I'll love him. I'll be a mother to him.'_ Every time she thought of those words, she felt she was betraying herself. Did she truly mean those words or was it simply a prayer born of guilt? The gods knew and saw fit to punish her time and time again for lying.

The way the past would haunt her and her children was turning into a plague that worsened as time went on. She tried to believe that it would pass but it would not. She just could not see it until now. She had let herself be blinded to the consequences of her mistakes.

The night she found Arya practising, there was screaming coming from her daughter's room. Arya's nightmares were growing worse and they were affecting her physically. The lack of sleep and rest put a strain on her body. Before she was skipping lessons to practice, now she was missing them because she did have the strength to attend.

Catelyn tried to steel herself and be strong through this, but she could not. Arya would not see her and it broke her heart. Ned was giving their daughter all his attention, for his was the only one she would have.

Catelyn tried joining the other girls with Septa Mordane for their stitching lessons. It gave her time to be with Sansa and see how Princess Myrcvella was bonding with the other girls. Jeyne Pool and Beth Cassel were adoring Myrcella and they loved to act like her ladies in waiting. But more than that it help her find focus in something out of all this chaos.

The girls were giggling with conversation as they did embroideries. But Catelyn could not smile for them. She constantly pricked her fingers from her needle. When it happened this time, blood leaked out the tip of her finger and it stained onto her piece. She cursed under her breath and sucked where the blood was coming from her finger.

When she brought her hand down to see if the bleeding has stopped, she was more taken by the sight of the scar on her palm. She could still feel the sting of the blade from time to time.

"Mother, your work is ruined." Sansa said.

One of the birds in her flock was stained red now. "I suppose it will be a cardinal now instead of a dove." Catelyn told her daughter. She tried to smile, but she couldn't.

"Shall I get you a new piece, my lady?" Septa Mordane asked.

Catelyn set her piece aside and shook her head. She felt exhausted from doing nothing. She couldn't take anymore of this. "That will be enough for today, girls. Sansa, why don't you take everyone for a game to play."

"Yes, mother." The girls set their pieces down for now and followed Sansa out. Septa Mordane was collecting what was left behind.

"You look ill, my lady, and yet I sense it is not a physical sickness that has a hold over you."

"How can I sit here doing nothing while my child is in suffering? I'm the wife of the Warden of the North and daughter of the Lord of the Riverlands. I've never felt more powerless in my life." She turned her hands over and looked down at her scars again. "Every time I look at these, do you know what I remember? Not the blade, not the assassin, just the boy covered in blood and tears."

"The Book of the Warrior, chapter fourteen verses ten and eleven. Let the marks of pain and war mark our bodies until death to remind of the marks they leave in our spirits. Let the wounds of our flesh heal and become memory for our deeds, whether of sin or righteousness."

"And what do you think these are? Marks of sin or good deeds? I know what they are. Brands of sin. A reminder of all the pain befalling my family because I could not love a motherless child."

"You were not his mother, my lady. There is no reason for you to be ashamed or regret what a child of sin did not deserve."

Catelyn looked at her coldly. "The Book of the Mother. Grace be unto those whose wombs have quickened with their husband's seed. Let life born be treasured by all and cherished day after day, for such is a duty of a mother to love children as the Mother does. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Does this not mean that it is a mother's duty to love all children?"

"It is a mother's duty to love her children and those of her kin. The bastard was not yours, my lady."

"You will never address him like that again." She snapped. "He is a Stark, not a Snow. A boy who loved his brothers and sisters. And all I can do is just sit with a damn thread and needle when my daughter suffers!"

She took her leave from Septa Mordane in a rather angry mood. She immediately went to her room where she could be alone and try to find some peace within herself. But she could not, not with the softness of the bed she sat on or the warmth of the fire in the hearth, she felt at war within herself.

She tried to pray, she studied the books of her faith for answers. But it all went in circles that she could not find an end to. One scripture would say something but be combated by something else. She could not find answers through faith of what to do.

'How must I act? As a mother raising her daughter with duty or raising her with love?' Arya didn't like learning to be a Lady of the court, she didn't like stitching or singing. It wasn't her. But it was her duty to grow into a Lady.

'Love is the death of duty.' The words of Ser Barristan lingered in her mind from that night.

Her resolve became clear. If it was her fault that caused this, then it was her responsibility to mend it however she could. Not for faith's sake, but for Arya's. She made haste gathering what she needed begin making what Arya needed. She knew her measurements better than anyone else after making so many dresses for her.

She didn't go to bed, she worked through the night stitching leather and getting everything just right. She noticed that the castle was quiet. Maester Luwin must have been given no other alternative but essence of Nightshade to help Arya sleep. But knowing the maester, Catelyn knew that he would not have taken any sort of risk without great faith in the result of Arya's recovery.

The anxiety she had festered in her mind. Her hands were shaking slightly and she constantly pricked her fingers with her needles. She had done it so many times that the tips of her fingers were swelling and going numb.

By daybreak, She had finished. It was a fine work, but she could have done better. But that didn't matter. They would work long enough for her to make more for Arya.

She was so tired from staying up all night, but she wouldn't rest until she knew her daughter could without pain.

When she came to her daughter's room, Maester Luwin was already awake and reading a book, one of his own from the Citadel.

"My lady," he greeted quietly. "You do not look so well."

"I didn't sleep, Luwin. Was she able to?"

"Yes. I gave her a special blend that causes drowsiness similar to the Milk of the Poppy but not as potent or dangerous to use as Nightshade. But that doesn't mean she's rested well. She whimpers in her sleep." he glanced down to her hands and noticed the condition. "My lady, , let me tend to you-"

"That will be all, Maester, for now." Catelyn sat on a small stool that Ned would use whenever he was with her. He would read to her and be with her, do everything could to ease her. Now, it was her turn even if she was unwanted. "Will she need anything when she wakes?"

"Just a warm meal and plenty of water." Luwin replied.

"Then go rest, Luwin. I would like privacy when she wakes."

"As you say, my lady." Maester Luwin took his book with him when he departed and left Catelyn alone with Arya.

Catelyn set her work on the stone floor and reach a hand over to her daughter's face. She stroked it softly with her reddened thumb and wiped away a stream where tears had been. She never saw anything more precious to her than her children.

Arya whimpered once and it startled Catelyn. "N...no…" Arya muttered scaredly.

Catelyn could watch this. "Arya," she gently rocked her daughter. "Arya, please wake up."

"Mmm...mother?" Arya's eyes cracked open and her hand reached out to Catelyn's. She grabbed hold of it and held it tightly. "The blood… your hands..."

"It's alright now, Arya. It's going to be alright."

Arya slowly blinked her eyes awake. She released her grip and pushed herself away.

"Arya,"

"Leave me alone." Arya grumbled.

Catelyn sighed and straightened herself. "Not until you listen to what I have to say. After that, I will take my leave."

"Then just say it." Arya turned herself over so she wasn't facing her mother.

Nevertheless, Catelyn would say her piece. "I don't want my daughters to learn to fight. I don't want you to get drawn to a path that will lead you to harm and death. When I saw those marks, it hurts my heart so much. I love you, I don't want to see you get hurt, and I can't bear to watch you like this. And I never want to see the dresses I spend hours making for you become so filthy." She reached down to the floor and set her work on the bed. "You will wear these instead when you practise."

Arya turned her head around and saw a pair of leather breaches laid out on the bed for her. She reached a hand out and felt them. "These are for me? For… I can practise?" Instead of joy, it was a great relief that her daughter showed.

"Yes. But I want you to promise that you'll do all that you can to stay safe. And when you are good enough," she reached a hand over to Arya's and held it softly, "I want you to save your brother for all of us."

Arya had tears welling up as she jumped to Catelyn and hugged her tightly. She began crying into Catelyn's shoulder. "I promise!" Her arms softened and she pulled back, looking down at Catelyn's hands. "Your hands…"

"Nothing compared to what you are going through. Do not mind these red fingers of mine."

"Maybe you should wear some armor when you sew."

Such a remark made Catelyn laugh with her daughter. But as she thought about it, it wasn't a bad idea. But she would think of that later. "Well? Why don't you try them on?"

Arya kicked her legs over the side of the bed and Catelyn helped slip the sleeves over her feet. Arya pulled them to her waist and stood up. She twirled around as if the breeches were a dress. "How do I look?"

Like a boy, Catelyn wanted to say. "Ready to learn."

* * *

Ned

The raven was sent and now it was just an anticipating wait for Tywin Lannister's reply. If he did accept the invitation, Ned imagined that he would bring half of the Westerlands with him to Winterfell.

No matter, this had to be dealt with and negotiated without more delay than there already has been. Not to mention, Ned was eager to have some time to practise with the boys today. Robb was just about ready to start using live steel.

His sons were lined up with Domeric and Theon. Bran carried a little wooden toy sword in his hands while the other boys had blunted tourney blades.

"Wait!"

Ned turned his gaze and saw Arya running to them with a sword of her own and garbed like a boy.

"Arya, what on earth are doing here?" Ned asked with disappointment. "It's nearly an hour after sunrise, you're late."

"I'm sorry! I couldn't find my boots fast enough."

Ned smirked at her. "No matter. You're here now. Let's begin."

It was quite the surprise when Catelyn announced that Arya would be undergoing sword lessons with the boys. Septa Mordane was cross and argued that it wasn't befitting a lady's position but she was silence and ordered to speak no more of it. Sansa thought it was weird, but she and the other girls couldn't hide their interest to watch Arya's first lesson. From the looks of it, they were all planning of teasing her but by the end that day they were all impressed.

"Once more." Ned raised his blunted sword to guard Arya's upcoming strikes that he just showed her. "One, two, three, four," He blocked her sword with every count and paid attention to every inch of her posture and technique. "Very good. Again, but faster. Are you ready?" Arya didn't even answer, she just struck out and went quicker than Ned planned on.

He was gladdened when Arya came to him in her newly made breeches and Catelyn right behind her. He thought his wife made them for her to go riding in when he first saw them. He didn't believe her when she said that Arya would be trading stitching for sewing. The boys were upset because they didn't want to train with a girl, but Robb took it better than the rest.

Today, Ned decided to teach his children and his wards himself. While Ser Rodrik was giving the older boys some quick stances to practise, Ned was doing sets with Arya and Bran and would switch off after the hour was up.

"Arya, try defending from above, like this." Ned raised his sword above his head and gripped it with both hands. "This is a high guard. Men that attack with it will usually be taller and swinging down at you."

Arya copying his posture as did Bran. "The sword feels heavier this way." Arya said.

"You'll get used to the weight. Your body will become stronger as you learn." But still, a regular sword would be bigger than what would suit her. If he gave Arya his own sword, she wouldn't be able to get one good swing without losing her balance. If she was going to become a fighter, she would need something that matched her self. But his style was all he knew. Perhaps he should look for a proper teacher for her. "Bran, your turn. Let's put a shield in your arm."

As Bran went to get a shield for himself, Ned looked up to see Catelyn and the balconies above. The look on her face showed conflict, but pleasantness as well. She told him how she felt about Arya learning and he understood her unease. In fact he shared a little of it. He didn't want his daughters to get sucked into the wars of men. It was too gruesome of a thing. But Arya needed this, and they both knew that.

Sansa was up with Catelyn as were a few of the other girls. Jeyne Pool, Joy and Beth Cassel, Joanna Holt, and the Princess Myrcella. Most of them were watching Arya but Myrcella and Sansa were watching the boys. Sansa was looking in Domeric's direction more than Robb's like Myrcella.

The Kingslayer didn't have a shift today. From what Ned was told, Ser Jaime went to Wintertown to find something interesting to do. He hoping to finally have a chat with the Kinglsayer about certain things, but unfortunately he was either busy, gone, or asleep.

Bran returned with a small shield on his arm and took a rather open stance with his little wooden sword up. Ned corrected his postured first before delivering light swings to his son. Bran had the urge to block with his sword and the shield began drooping down. Ned decided to quicken his next strike and stopped it at Bran's open shoulder. "Keep your shield up, or I'll ring your head like a bell."

Bran nodded and tried again. This time he focused too much on using his shield and not his sword. At least he was focusing on keeping up his defense.

"Better. Arya, your turn again. I'll attack but you have to take control. Ready?"

"Ready." Arya took a high guard stance and blocked every move Ned gave her. On the fifth strike, Arya made her attacks and advanced forward. Unfortunately Ned had to seize the openings she made for herself and parried her next attack. If she wanted to learn, she had to fail at times.

Before Ned could tell Arya what she did wrong, someone else watching did.

"Don't lunge like that." The Kingslayer said while eating some walnuts from hand. "It's too easy to be taken off balance with such a move." He was watching over close to the entrance of Mikken's forge.

"Ser Jaime," Ned addressed, "I thought you were spending the day in Wintertown."

"I wanted to, but the people didn't want me to. Shame really, I was looking forward to getting one of those nice, warm cloaks you all wear. Winter is coming after all."

"If that's the problem, I'll see to it one's made for you. You are my guest, after all."

"I'll be sure to give proper payment. After all, a Lannister always pays his debts."

Ned put his focus back to his son and daughter. "Your turn Bran, and shield up." He took two light swings at his son and a thrust that hit in the center of the shield. It was a light strike, but hard enough that it knocked Bran to rear.

"Angle your shield, you'll parry better." Ser Jaime commented.

Ned turned to him again. "I think he first needs to learn to keep his shield up. Would you not interrupt again?"

Ser Jaime shrugged. "I'm merely an observer providing simple advice."

Ned kept his frustration subdued and continued with the lesson. He did the same steps with Bran and instead of continuing a defense, Bran angled his shield to parry the sword and thrusted forward, landing a strike on Ned.

"You see?" Ser Jaime asked.

Ned breathed hard and planted the tip of his sword into the dirt. "Perhaps you'd like to take my place in the lesson?"

"Oh, heavens no. I only teach my nephews and my squires, yet I have only my niece close enough and none of the latter."

Ned looked over to Robb and saw that his son was doing well with some more advanced sets.

"But I see that I'm not wanted here either. So I shall take my leave, my lord." Ser Jaime finished the last of his walnuts and made to walk for the courtyards.

No, he wouldn't let the man get away again. "If not a lesson," Ned said, "then how about a duel?"

Everyone stopped what they were doing when Ser Jaime turned at the request. There was a pregnant pause and all was still.

Ser Jaime smirked and snickered. "I must refuse. I don't use tourney swords anymore."

"Very well," Ned replied. "Rodrik, Theon, fetch my sword and my armor. Jory, take Robb do the same for Ser Jaime."

"I never agreed, Lord Stark." Ser Jaime said sharply. "What would I get if I win?"

And there was the Lannister showing his pretty teeth. "You want a wager?"

"They tend to make things more interesting." Jaime replied. "If I beat you, then we'll say you buy me that cloak I want. And you win… I can't imagine what I have that you want."

"I just want a few words."

"Pshh, that's far too simple of a wager. Though given a recent talk with my niece, I can guess what it would be about. How about this instead, If you win then I'll tell you a secret I know. And it's actually about you."

A secret about him? What could it possibly be? Did Jaime know about his arrangement with Bronn? Did he intercept a message? Whatever it was, at least it would get the Kingslayer talking. "I accept that."

Ser Jaime smirked again and turned to Jory and Robb. "You heard your lord, get me my armor and sword."

Ned sent his other children to put away their things and join their mother. As the armor and swords were brought and given, word got around the castle and a few extra onlookers had come to watch.

Ned had a shirt of chainmail, his leather brigidine, and steel vambraces given to him. He didn't wear a helm and neither did the Kingslayer in his gilded armor. He took a sword only, no shield. He would face the Kingslayer on equal terms.

Ser Jaime was dressed quickly with Jory and Robb's help. Robb had an enthusiastic attitude while he did the straps of Jaime's armor.

When both were ready, they squared off in the practise yard. Ser Jaime was moving his arms about, stretching out. "Leather against steel?" Jaime asked. "Not very wise. Surely you afford a breastplate?"

"Not one as pretty as yours. There's not a scratch on it."

Jaime smirked at him. "People have been swinging at me for years. They all seem to miss."

Ned raised his sword and took his stance. "You choose your opponents well then."

Jaime's smirk died and he raised his sword as well. The two stepped lightly in circle, each of them were analyzing the other. From a commoner's point of view, they were just looking at each other, but in truth the duel had already begun. When it came to fights like this, the battle started in them mind.

Ned took a step forward and made the first move, a strike from the left. He didn't expect to see Jaime block and parry with such precision. His sword met at the perfect spot of Ned's. He kept his advance going on the Kingslayer and followed every strike he could. Jaime parried once more but slipped by Ned, gaining distance between them.

"Not bad. Excellent stance and footwork. But if I step here and with a understrike," He did exactly as he said and Ned met it with a low guard and a counter that was blocked. "Very good. And now a step here,"

Ned used the chance to advance with a thrust but Jaime easily parried it and stepped away.

"Are you sure you beat THE Sword of the Morning? Not even I could best him as I am now." Ser Jaime took the advance this time and sent Ned into a great retreat, but with a riposte Ned took charge of the fight again.

Ned thought he took charge, but Jaime was leading. He could tell by the footwork and the lack of counters. He slowed his place and gave an opening for Jaime to take and it worked. He parried with the steel of his gauntlet instead and jabbed the tip of his sword at Jaime's breastplate. His sword was merely inches away but was swept to the side.

Jaime looked down to his armor and saw it unscathed. "You've come closer than anyone before." He looked back at Ned. "It won't happen again." He dealt out strikes and Ned proceed to block, this time he was the one leading. He never forget the skill of Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold, and he practised was used against often, including the move that beat him.

When Jaime thrust his sword, Ned counter blocked and slid his blade to catch the crossguard of Jaime's sword. He got the angle right, he got the motion, it should have worked. But Jaime was quit and maneuvered his hand to twist his blade away from being disarmed.

Ned was taken by surprise and the move he attempted to use to win was used on him. His sword was knocked out of his hand and into the dirt. He lost.

Jaime held up his sword at Ned and was breathing steadily. "Ser Arthur taught me that… I could never counter it until a few years ago. No one could beat Arthur Dayne, especially not a second born of the North. You couldn't have won that fight."

"If I didn't, then I would have my head taken by Dawn, and not his."

Jaime lowered his sword and looked around at the spectators. There was anger in the air after watching their pride hurt by a southern knight. He said nothing as he marched away from the duel. The Princess pushed through the people and chased after her uncle.

Ned sighed and retrieved his sword from the dirt. He wiped it clean with his gloves and Jory came to him with the scabbard. This was a mistake, he realized.

As he began undoing the straps of his vambraces, Cat, Robb, and Arya approached him.

"Are you alright?" Cat asked.

"Aye." Ned responded solemnly. He looked to his two children. "Back to your lessons, both of you."

"Ned-"

"I'm done for today. I think I'm going to have a bath." he thought a soak in hot waters would clear his head, but they didn't. He kept on pondering Ser Jaime's jabs with words ever since he came to Winterfell. It was clear that the Kingslayer wasn't letting go of the titles bestowed upon him for killing Aerys Targaryen.

He could remember it all so perfectly. The Mad King's silver hair was stained with blood, his face still in shock of his death. And the Kingslayer, sitting atop the Iron Throne.

' _Ah, Lord Stark. About time you came by. This thing is damn dreadful to sit in. At least it'll be warm for the next who takes a seat in it.'_

Ned felt so much disgust for the man, and so much anger. He was so close to claiming vengeance for his father and brother. But it was bloody golden sword that did instead. He was so young and foolish then, letting desire drive him instead of the lessons his father and Jon Arryn taught him. He wanted Jaime to live the rest of his life at the Wall, a cold prison for the crime of stealing his chance of vengeance.

After his soaking in hot waters was done, he dressed again and decided to try and find some peace in the presence of his father and brother. He descended into the crypts with a torch rather than a candle lantern and made his way to the tombs. But he slowed his pace when he saw someone already there.

"A bit closer," The Kingslayer said while looking at the statue of Ned's Lord Father. "If the Iron Throne was right there," he pointed over to the statue of Edwyle Stark, Eddard's grandfather, "Then I would be about where I am now. And If you were five paces closer, you would be where father father was, dressed in armor and tied to a post, burning alive in wildfire."

Ned decided to take five paces forward and stopped. "And you just watched as my father and brother burned."

"Your father, burned. Brandon choked to death."

Ned paused. "Choked?"

"Yes, choked, strangling himself to death from the chain around his neck trying to reach a sword placed just out of reach." Jaime let the words sink into Ned's mind.

The bones in his body felt like led, he become so heavy after hearing such a revelation. He spent years accepting the horrid deaths of his father and brother, but to know such evil was taken further than he thought.

"Would you have done it?" Jaime asked. "Would you have kept your oaths if it was you in the white cloak and pretty armor? Would you stood guard to man who raped his wife night after night and have watched as your father and brother burned before… no, no what am I thinking? The Good King wouldn't have made you watch, he would have made you swing the sword yourself. Piss on the cloak, I change my mind. I want an answer, right now. Would you have kept your oaths when the Mad King orders you to bring the head of your own father?"

Ned hands were shaking. 'Am I afraid? But of what? It's just a question.' He thought.

' _An oath is your honor, Eddard.' Jon Arryn told him when he was a boy. 'Do not make the ones you cannot keep, but do not try to keep the oaths you cannot make.'_

' _That makes little sense, Lord Arryn. I mean it makes perfect sense but at the same time, it's just confusing.'_

' _What it means is, keep true to your promises, but more than that, do what you know is right, Ned.'_

' _But how will I know what I think is right is true?'_

' _Faith, Ned Stark. Faith in your judgement.'_

"No." Ned replied.

Jaime simply smirked. "It wouldn't have mattered though, if it were you instead of me. If it had been you, the realm would rejoiced that the honorable Eddark Stark had slain the Mad King and avenged his fallen family. You could have done everything I did to earn what you called me that day and no one would have cared. You could have killed your king, betrayed your brothers in arms, fucked a woman and sired a bastard. No one would have cared, because your a fucking Stark!" His shouts echoed throughout the crypts, his words repeating over and over.

"If you wanted to be a hero so much, then why didn't you protect them?"

Jaime when stubbornly silent. "I never watched it happen. I simply turned my head that hour and listened to my Lord Commander reminding me that I was Kingsguard, we don't judge our king, we protect him."

"I wasn't talking about my father and brother. Why didn't you protect the children? You just sat on the throne while the Mountain and Amory Lorche butchered Elia and her children."

Jaime stared at him silently. There was great anger in his eyes. "The same reason you didn't protect your bastard. I got distracted."

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 **I just want to clarify, Ned doesn't know that Jaime knows about Jon. The only poeple outside Ned's circle that know are Tywin, Littlefinger, Robert and Jaime**

 **If you want to check out the upcoming artwork of Blackfyre's new hilt, either read this story on Archive of Our Own to also see Fang or go to my DeviantArt page for every Valyrian Weapon I have posted so far. Since I can't post a link, I will give you all my username**

 **MultiRandomness21**


	18. Chapter 18

**Dang, not much reception for the last chapter. Oh well, maybe this one will get more buzz. And on time this time, almost wasn't. Enjoy and leave a review of what you think!**

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Baelgor

Once they had crossed over the Black Cliffs on the borders of Slaver's Bay, they had to make their way to the Demon Road. If they wanted, they could have arrived at Mantarys days ago, But Baelgor needed time to begin teaching Morghon. And, they had a detour they had to make.

Vedros was scouting ahead to the south. They were going deeper into the Valyrian Peninsula than most dared to go. It would be dangerous and there was the chance that they would vanish without a trace of how, but it was a risk to pay for answers.

As far as teaching Morghon went, it was incredible and it brought tranquility to Baelgor's soul.

Baelgor sat down with him at the edge of a cliff. He had Morghon remove his doublet and shirt given Baelgor's experience the first time he cast his flames and burned his sleeves off. But also as part of the lesson, Morghon had to embrace the heat of the sun, the greatest source of fire and light.

He watched diligently, paying close attention to every little thing that Morghon was doing. Morghon was sitting cross-legged with his hands out in front of him and an intense look on his face.

Morghon was so eager to begin learning and demanding to know what would be first. Engulfing Blackfyre or his short sword with flames, conjuring an animal of fire, breathing fire like a dragon. It made Baelgor smile with such amusement to see the excitement and it almost pained him when he told Morghon that the first lesson would be creating a spark.

"No," Baelgor leaned in after too much time watching and seeing nothing had passed... "You're missing something for the ignition and the eruption." To the side, he had the Book of Flames open one of the first pages that teach spells and conjurings. Half of what inside the book was lessons and spells while the other half was histories and personal notes of Baelgor's ancestors written in hopes of giving enlightenment and innovation to those after.

Morghon breathed out and shook his head. 'I do not know what I am doing wrong.'

"It's not that you're doing something wrong, you're not doing what you need to in the first place. What are the feelings you're focusing on when you are trying to ignite your sparks?"

Morghon shrugged. 'Focus, upset because they aren't appearing, and hope that they will. Should I try snapping fingers?'

"No, that's just a pointless habit I do." Pointless, yet oddly enjoyable and satisfying. Perhaps it was the rhythm it created.

Being a teacher of magic was proving to be a more difficult concept for Baelgor to grasp. He did what his father and uncles taught to him when he was a boy, but he couldn't pass on the knowledge they way they could.

He had the answers to give, but it couldn't work like that. If Morghon was to truly learn, then he would have to discover the solutions himself.

"Do you remember what it felt like when you held that dragon of flames in your palm?"

Morghon nodded

"How did that feel? Like holding some other object?"

Morghon paused, he looked puzzled for an answer. 'It felt strange and not natural.'

"Magic isn't just another item or tool at your access when you need it. It's an extension of yourself that your blood gives you the power to manifest it. It's not an object you create, it's a part of yourself just as much as it's a part of me."

Morghon sat still and breathed slowly. His eyes were looking down at his hands in total focus. It was reminiscent of when Althor would spend his time doing this instead of playing like other children would.

A small snap of light suddenly happened at the tips of Morghon's fingers.

Baelgor held his breath when small sparks began appearing once again without the need of a snap. A few seconds passed, then thirty, and then a minute. And then, a small flame flickered for an instant before vanishing. More tiny flames began flickering. He is astonished at the rate Morghon was progressing. Where it took him nearly three moon turns to get a single spark, the boy did it in just a few days. Morghon was a fast learner, or rather, his blood was granting him the strength to wield fire so easily.

Morghon moved his hands closer together, forcing the sparks to gather in a close space. In a surprise, the next flame that appeared popped and it startled both of them. But the next spark erupted and sustained a flame that grew to the size of Baelgor's thumb. The flames were bright yellow and orange, until they changed into a color Baelgor did not expect nor hoped to see.

Black flames, black fire. According to the memoir of his ancestor, Tylaeas Aekylosh, there were characteristics and meanings to the colors of fire. White was a color or perseverance and will. But black, black was a fire that cast a shadow instead of light. As such, those who wielded such a flame would be met with doom and death in their future. All things considered, it had already happened with Morghon when he was murdered.

Baelgor became greatly concerned. The records of those in his family who wielded that kind of fire had perished in horrible deaths. But the last one to ever wield that color caused the death of thousands and destroyed the greatest civilization that ever was in a single day.

He cleared his throat and continued to observe. "Excellent. Now you just need to work on getting faster than…" his words became mumbles when the size of Morghon's flames grew to the size of a plum. "Extinguish."

Morghon let go of his focus and the flames of shadow dispersed. He had a look of pride and joy upon his face. 'Can you believe how big that got?'

No, Baelgor couldn't. Not even he could make an orb of fire that big so fast. "That was amazing to behold, but be sure to not step too far where you don't know how to tread, or else you'll lose control."

Morghon nodded and went back to focusing on igniting his sparks.

This was giving Baelgor so much to think about. Morghon's incredible capacity for magic, black flames, what did it mean?

The only thing he found fitting was how the color of Morghon's flames matched the title of his sword. He didn't notice until after the left Tolos, but Blackfyre's new hilt was not what he expected.

The smith Maelthew had done incredible work and the design Morghon chose was flattering to Baelgor. Blackfyre's new hilt shared many similarities with Fang but remained its own design. The guards match with a scaled texture except Blackfyre curved and were shaped as tails coming from the mouths of two dragon heads. The pommels each bore a gemstone. Fang's was orange but Blackfyre's was a crimson garnet. A ruby would have been far too expensive.

But the most noticeable similarity between the two swords was the circular part of the guard that encased the blade. Fang had the medallion bearing the sigil of Aekylosh but Blackfyre was barren and simply exposed the blade.

Morghon wore Blackfyre on his back when they traveled. It was impossible to draw from such a position, but it was only a means to carry the weapon. He kept his shortsword ready at his hip.

When the twilight hour was waning into the evening, Vedros returned from his reconnaissance. He was shocked to see that both Baelgor and Morghon were creating flames at their fingertips.

"Seven hells," Vedros said as he dismounted. "You did this in just an afternoon?"

Baelgor and Morghon diminished their flames and stood. "Did you find the village?" He tossed Morghon's brown shirt back to him.

"Aye. But I got a feeling about that place that makes my spine tingle. I felt like someone was watching me the entire time I was there."

"Someone was, most likely." Baelgor retrieved their things and mounted his horse with Morghon. They sold the stallions and bought two rouncies. They weren't the best, but they would be enough to suit their needs. The Dothraki saddles did not suit the new mounts, however, so riding bareback was beginning to be strenuous.

However, Vedros' statement put Baelgor on edge. He wasn't bothered that they were going to be watched when they got to the village, but rather that they weren't being watched right now or since they left Tolos.

That priestess should have sent word to her superiors and they should have sent trackers after them, but nothing. It was unusual for this sort of freedom after such an encounter.

Regardless, they rode off down the cliffs to the marshlands below. There was a single road of heavy packed dirt that was slowly turning into mud and require maintenance almost every morning and evening.

The road became a narrow wooden bridge leading to a small river village. These people would fish and farm what they could and sell it all to Mantarys. Even though they were hardworking, they were just as strange and nasty as the people in the city they did business with. It wasn't a large place, only a hundred people were able to live and thrive here.

The village was held up by many thick wooden beams covered in mud and mildew. In the center of the village was a dead weirwoods. Its branches were cut, the trunk used to support the town, the face was scraped off.

As they trotted carefully on the rickety bridge, a group of travelers passed by coming from the village. There were seven men tugging with them five people bound by ropes. Vedros decided to open his mouth on matters that were done with.

"I understand why you went after the Followers of R'hollr, but why not the slavers?"

Baelgor pulled the reins and brought his horse to a stop. "I would have if I could have found them." It was his rash hunger for revenge that severed the chance he had of finding out who it was that enslaved Shienna and Althor. In his anger, he killed everyone that could have known. No matter where he looked or who he asked, nobody knew. "There's not a single person left alive who would know." He whipped the reins and resumed his pace.

Vedros shrugged. "You know, if your vendetta was against slavers and not religious folk, I think I might've grown to despise you for things than I do now."

"Unlike you, I grew up with slavery. It was just as normal to my life as having servants in your giant wooden castle… why the fuck would someone even build a castle out of wood?"

"Ironrath is stone and ironwood! Strong as steel and just as mighty as Winterfell."

"Unless someone drops a candle," Baelgor muttered.

Upon entering the river village, the first person to turn eyes to them had every inch of his face covered with tattoos and self-made scars. This same man was holding a small pale of water and tending to some potted flowers by a shack that was most likely his home.

The entrance to the village had a large battered post with a sign barely held on by rusty nails. The letters painted on to make the name had faded out as did the need for the village having a name. No one wanted to ever travel here and no one wanted to be seen here.

There wasn't a stable anywhere, only posts to tie up mounts to.

"What is this place?" Vedros asked.

"No one calls it anywhere," Baelgor told him as he dismounted. "And it's the closest anyone can live to Valyria without the need to worry about the mysteries and dangers of the Doom. If anyone's ballsy enough, they go to the outskirts and manage to bring back something worth a look and even worth some gold. The rest don't come back at all."

In the far distance of the horizon, there were hints of dark mist or smoke creeping of the waters of the river.

He handed the reins of his horse to Morghon and looked around for the old contact he used to see from time to time until five years ago.

Sure enough, he spotted the large hump-backed man grumbling a song and through rocks over the side of the village into the river. He wore clothes stained green from sleeping in beds of moss and mud and kept a hood up to cover his patches of hair.

"Bring us a fish, you're the fisherman…" Gorvan would sing. "Bring us a fish, today… but let us know that you don't want to go away from all, today… hm?" Gorvan turned around, showing his wart filled face and pungent teeth. "Ah, me old frien', Bael. Me thoughts you's forgot about me."

"Cut the chatter, Gorvan." Baelgor cut to the chase. "Will he see us?"

"Us? Makin' more frien's to replace good ole Gorvan? Poor, miser'ble Gorvan, no more frien's to sing with…"

"Shut your mouth or answer the damn question."

Gorvan grumbled and limped away from the edge of the village. "Good ole blue lips ain't gets not much vis'tors. Doesn't want 'em but never turns 'em away." Gorvan turned his head almost completely over his good shoulder. "He be waitin' for yah's."

"Good. Go get your ferry ready. I'll be there soon." He left Gorvan and returned to Vedros and Morghon. "Right, Vedros, you stay watch the horses. Don't accept anything anyone offers you, especially the mushrooms. Morghon, let's go."

Baelgor led his disciple past lazily made stalls that all had different foods. All were locally harvested and all were terrible. There were cuts of dried fish meat that had flies buzzing around and the eyes remaining in the heads. Carrots and potatoes shriveled and still covered in dirt. The only stall worth buying from was the one that had kegs of water. Whether or not it was clean water was the question.

Morghon tugged on Baelgor's sleeve for his attention. "What is it?"

'I have wanted to ask, but it did not feel right. But it is bothering me too much now.'

"What?"

'What Vedros said, It made me wonder, why did you just do as I asked?'

It bothered Baelgor that he had to answer. He wished he didn't have to get so sentimental than he already has with the boy. "I don't want magic to forgotten like so many other things in the world. Giants, White Walkers, Grumpkins, Gods, how many things of legend have become nothing but stories for children and skeptics? If I never met you, I would have died and my knowledge, my magic, it would disappear from the world." He noticed a bowl of salt on one of the vendor tables. He took a single grain from the bowl and showed it to Morghon. "Say this my magic, all of it." He moved his arm over to an open barrel of water and dropped the salt in. "Before it reaches the bottom, it will dissolve into nothing and disappear. How do know there's a grain in there? It can't be seen anymore, it's not enough to be tasted, and you can't smell it, so how do you prove it's there?"

'I just saw you put it in,' Morghon replied.

"Aye. you know. Now how do you convince someone else that there's a single grain of salt in that water?"

Morghon raised his hands up to sign something, but he hesitated and did nothing.

"How do get someone to even care that there's a single grain of salt? I don't want that for magic. I don't want it forgotten like so many wonderful things after the Doom." He patted Morghon and the shoulder and kept leading him through the village.

They came over to a small dock where Gorvan was waiting with his log tied gondolier. It was big enough to fit six people, but even have three on it risked the damn thing to break apart.

Onboard and seated, Gorvan pushed off into the steady river and continued to sing his ugly song that matched his ugly life.

The murky waters of the rivers would sometimes splash up between the tiny gaps of the logs. Schools of small fish would swim by as would snakes and frogs. No doubt the real dangers of the waters lurked at the bottom. Every now and then, stone men would live long enough to leave the Valyrian ruins and swim north of the Sea of Sighs.

Tall stalks of cattail grass were pushed aside as the lone river hut floating on a large crannog came into view.

"Nice ole blue lips," Gorvan muttered, "gives me a meal if I gives him his drinks. Bitter tastin's they do. Give's ole Gorvan headaches aplenty." Gorvan stopped his gondolier at the crannog and let Baelgor and Morghon disembark. "I's be gone's by the dark mornin's. Not safe's on the water when it's dark." The sun was still an hour from setting.

For a moment, Baelgor almost felt a bit sorry for leaving Vedros alone. It was going to be a long night for him.

"Listen," Baelgor said, "we're just here for a few things. If he offers you anything else, just say no."

'Who is this person?'

"A warlock, a banished one. Either he got too powerful for those around him or too combustive with his tricks and spells." He had never come to the warlock before. A group of them visited his grandfather decades ago and whatever the reason it was a secret taken to the grave. Only stories and rumors gave him the knowledge of what these dark mages could do, and it was enough to bring him to this one.

Baelgor placed a hand on Morghon's shoulder as they both entered a hut made of grass and twigs. There was no door, they simply stepped in and saw that the inside was far different than the outside. It was homey at least.

Over at the other end sat a man in poor dark robes with a braid of long black hair in a bed of grass-covered by a cowhide. Next to him was a bowl of herbs and weeds lit in embers, giving off smoke for an intoxication. The man's lips were stained blue and he was skeletal in build.

"Tis quite rude to intrude in such crude of a manner." The man said and looked with pale eyes at Baelgor and Morghon. There wasn't even a door to knock on, just a hanging sheet. "And before me comes the exile of the Dancing Dragons bearing the Lord's son at his side. For when men graze at my feet, I, the humble shepherd shant ever tread the path and be led astray from truth. Like many things, knowledge is a price to be paid, but what can I offer such fine merchants of magic?"

Morghon looked up at Baelgor, obviously confused. 'What?' he signed.

Baelgor simply shook his head in embarrassment. "He's very poetic when he speaks." This warlock was an outcast of his order. Neither his age nor his name was known. Whenever someone tried to give him either, that which was given was forgotten after said.

The warlock smiled sinisterly at them. "Poetry is a child born from the love of language and life. Without such beauties as companions, we are soulless creatures in the womb of the world until born into the harassing death that haunts us eternally." He walked over to Jon and knelt down with an open palm over his chest. "The marks you bear, my child, do flatter me so. For never have I been worthy of meeting one of your kind in this plane of the living."

'What does he mean?' Morghon signed. 'And how does he know about us?'

"No idea. It's almost like magic, don't you think?" Baelgor raised a single eyebrow and Morghon rolled his eyes. He drew his new knife and twirled it by the blade between his fingers. "So, to business. How much for a stiff drink and view?"

The warlock stood up so swift and smoothly it was like he floated up. He stood regally with hands behind his back. "A round of truth is free of charge for gracing me with the Lord's Chosen, but the payment required to see shall be what those in hiding desperately want. One drop of sacred blood."

Morghon's blood. If he got a bit of that, there's no knowing the potions and dark spells this cretin would summon at his disposal. "Done." Instead of Morghon, Baelgor took his knife and cut the tip of his left middle finger. "Better hurry before it heals." A drop already fell from the tip of his finger but the next one was caught in a wooden grail by the warlock.

Baelgor wiped his finger clean with his sleeve and pinched the cut to keep any more of his blood from dripping into the warlock's possession.

The warlock rolled his eyes back into his head as he took a long inhale through his nose at the single drop he had. "Waning… dilute… weak… and miserable." He looked up with disappointment. "But worthy." He began pulling dried herbs that hung from his ceiling and mortar and pestle.

As he began mixing his herbs and grinding them, Baelgor kneeled down to Morghon, looking at him eye to eye. "We're about to see a bit of what we're dealing with, but no more, do you understand?"

'What do you mean, no more than that?'

"We're going to drink shade-of-the-evening. And with his help, we're going to see… things. We're going to see just how much fire is in you. But this is not as simple as it sounds. You will be tempted to see more, to see things that might or might not be true. The deeper you delve, the harder it will be to come back. Dive deeper that you can return and you'll drown. Do you understand?"

Morghon nodded nervously.

The sound of leaves being scrunched turned Baelgor's attention back to the warlock. The ghastly man was crushing the blue juices from black leaves into another wooden cup.

"One drop shall bring you rest, three and you will dream, a sip and truth transcends into reality." The Warlock returned and gave the cup to Baelgor. "What truth does your fading heart desire?"

Baelgor didn't answer. The cup was filled to the rim of a dish that wasn't deep. He poured one mouthful past his lips and tasted a war of flavor. Rott, sugar, wood, sand, tang… he gave the cup to Morghon and breathed heavy after swallowing. Morghon drank all that remained and looked like he didn't know to spit or swallow.

"Swallow, do it," Baelgor ordered.

Morghon obeyed and scraped the top of his tongue with his teeth in disgust.

"You remember your first smoke?"

Morghon nodded with a grimace.

"This is going to be much worse…" His feet started to feet wet and when he looked down he saw the floor was leaking with water.

"As water quenches the thirst of the stomach, air quenches the thirst of lungs. Now breath…" The warlock has set some embers in the herbs and smoke began filing his hut. These herbs were of no kind that Baelgor could name nor did they smell familiar. Nevertheless, he and Morghon inhaled deeply.

"Let the smoke wrap around your mind and pierce the veil that covers all with lies and deceit. Let the truth set you free."

The floor beneath Baelgor broke and he fell into the water, except it wasn't water anymore, it was shadow he was drowning in. Stars began to appear in every direction he looked. They were dancing and streaking all around him like small bugs of light. His hands burst into golden flames that encased his entire body. His bones snapped and shifted on their own. He could not scream in pain but neither did he feel the need to. His flaming hands changed into wings, his neck grew longer and his teeth sharpened. His toenails became talons and a long tail sprout from his pelvis. No longer was he a man, but a dragon of golden flames.

Baelgor could feel the power of his magic emanating all through the flickering of the fire. But what about Morghon, where was he?

His intentions were answered as the breaking and cracking noises of ice could be heard from behind. Baelgor turned his long neck to look behind and instead of a boy, he saw a large wolf of ice with glowing red eyes before him. The creature silent, his fur was ice and snow… but it was cracking and a bright light was shining from within.

The ice wolf reared its head and unleashed a great howl that caused a tempest. The cracks along its body formed all around and the light broke through. The tempest ceased and great flames as bright as the sun took shape of a dragon far larger than Baelgor's form. This dragon was almost the size of Balerion the Dread.

This mighty, divine avatar was the capacity and potential of Morghon's magic. It was terrifying but also glorious.

The eyes were just like Morghon's grey and… no, one was grey while the other was changing. The flames of Morghon's form started to die all along his right wing and it was continuing up to his neck and chest. The eye that was changing turned bright blue, the same blue that Baelgor saw after his wife and child died.

Morghon's avatar took shape of something new, the sun itself but the dying flames continued to move along like an eclipse.

Baelgor's fire died and he fell into lands covered into grass and hills. He was no longer a dragon, but himself. The eclipse was full and a wave of cold and shadow took place of all the light and warmth. Snow was falling so fast it covered the lands.

'Morghon…' Baelgor tried to say, but only his thoughts could speak in this world. 'Morghon!' He didn't know where to look, there was only ice and death around him. 'MORGHON!'

He was sinking further into the vision. No longer was he a dragon made of flames, but himself garbed in rich clothes he once wore as a younger man. Fang was not with him nor was any weapon, only a small seed in his palm. All around had finished except for a small mound of snow. Without a desire to, he planted the seed and watched it immediately grow in the snow. It became a tree bearing white apples. He plucked one and took a bite, but was disgusted at the taste. A beautiful tree with horrid fruit was what he created.

'Baelgor…' Shienna's voice said.

Baelgor immediately turned around and saw a great weirwood tree in a small grove of trees. The face was unlike any he had seen before, this face was laughing at him and all who looked at it.

Morghon was standing in front of it. The winds blowing all around were carrying whispers that were coming from the mouth of the tree.

'Morghon,' Baelgor called out, 'we have to go.'

Morghon turned around with his hands up. 'Wait!' he spoke. The voice he heard, was it truly Morghon's or just what he thought the boy would sound like. 'I know this voice, I heard it before!'

'Morghon, we have to go now!' Baelgor looked around and saw the roots of the trees begin to flick out of the ground like tentacles. They were creeping closer. 'Morghon!'

'Quiet! I need to hear!' Morghon pressed an ear to the mouth of the weirwood. 'It's her, I know it's her…' A root of the weirwood wrapped around Morghon's legs and began pulling him into the dirt. He clawed and grabbed to keep himself above. 'No, please!'

Baelgor dived forward and used all of his strength to pull the boy out of the ground. He was right next to the tree and could hear the whispers more clearly.

...What if it's a boy…' A man's voice said but it was fading. Was it Ned Stark's voice? '...What about Aemon…'

Baelgor's feet began sinking into the ground too. He couldn't stop it. He grabbed a hand into the mouth of the weirwood as the dirt reached his neck. As his eyes were about to be covered, the last thing he saw in the light of a waning blood moon was… a raven? A raven with three eyes.

Baelgor felt a hand grab his arm above the dirt and without any great strength, pulled him from the dirt. Except it wasn't dirt he emerged from, it was water, then the floor of the warlock's hut. He gasped for air and felt like he was choking. Yet he was completely dry and the hole in the floor was simply an illusion.

Morghon was angrily pounding his fists on his knees. If he had his voice, he would be shouting and cursing right now.

The warlock was standing proud with his hands tucked into his sleeves. "Little truth for little payment. A drop more and what is hidden can be made known." He brandished a rusty blade with a chipped edge and offered it to Morghon. "One drop, and you will see her."

"No!" Baelgor grabbed Morghon by his doublet and pulled him out of the grass hut as quickly as he could. No matter how much Morghon kicked and fought, he couldn't let him go back.

Baelgor nearly threw Morghon on the ferry and kicked out back into the water. Gorvan didn't even say a word to them, he just rowed the gondolier and kept singing his song.

"I warned you," Baelgor said with exhaustion, "stay too long and you'll drown."

'I heard her" Moghon signed angrily. 'I heard my mother!'

"How do you know if you've never even met her?" Baelgor asked him with doubt. "How do you know it's not what you just wanted to hear?"

'I know it was her' Morghon replied, 'I have to go back!'

"If you go back there, you will lose yourself in illusions and tricks. That's how warlocks work. They give you a taste and then nothing else but falsities and traps just to steal what they need from you! And if gets a drop of your blood, there' no telling the curses he'll cast." Baelgor had to sit down. What he witnessed was overwhelming to him. "What did you hear from that tree? What words?"

Morghon looked away, out to the crimson red setting sun. 'I only heard her crying. She kept saying that she would protect me.' He slumped down and became saddened.

Baelgor scooted over next to him. "I heard differently. I heard your father's voice as well, I think. He wanted to name you Aemon."

Morghon looked up to him with confusion present on his face. 'Are you sure?'

"It's what I heard." But why would a Stark want to give his bastard a name from his enemy's family?

They didn't speak after that. Morghon was too upset and Baelgor had too much to think about. When they returned to the village, Vedros was waiting for them.

"Well," Vedros asked, "Did you get any answers you were looking for?"

"One answer is given," Baelgor replied as he and Morghon disembarked. "About a dozen questions raised. Oy," He patted Morghon on the shoulder, "go get something to eat." He gave his purse to Morghon and sent him off. Baelgor then turned to Vedros. "You're sure there's nobody who might know who his mother is besides Ned Stark himself?"

Vedros shook his head. "There's only been rumors. The ones I heard the most were either Ashara Dayne, some fisherman's daughter from Gulltown, or a Dornish peasant. My father never believed Ned stark to share a whore's company."

"Whoever she is, I think she might be from House Targaryen, a close bastard."

This brought a shocking reveal to Vedros. "Are you certain?"

"I heard whispers, I saw his power. His blood is far stronger than mine. If he knew all that I do, I would be a man of cheap tricks compared to him. It makes sense why the Red Followers want him. With him in their control, they'd had they might of a dragon." His anger pricked at his mind. He wanted to kill more of the priests and priestesses to savor his need for revenge. But he wouldn't.

"What do we do?"

"We continue to press on for answers. We get to Mantarys and either book passage by ship or keep going by horse to Braavos. After that, we're taking him home."

Vedros showed interested. "Winterfell? Are you sure that's wise? Don't you remember what he told us about the vision of his return to Westeros?"

War and chaos, the country would tear itself apart. "I remember and I'm willing to risk it for the truth. We'll just go to Winterfell, have a chat, and then leave, with or without permission of Lord Stark."

"I've never met Lord Eddard, but I know enough that getting out of the North will be impossible if he knows his son is alive."

Baelgor couldn't help but laugh. "After all of our travels and mischiefs, do you honestly believe that the impossible will be enough to stop us?"


	19. Chapter 19

**And we're back. A thousand apologies for such a delay. There were dozens of setbacks and complications writing this chapter and the next. Originally they were one but the length grew too great so I cut it into two. hopefully what is given will make up for the delay. The next chapter is guaranteed to update next Wednesday and I feel it's one of my best ones yet.**  
 **I want to give out a great thanks to Longclaw1-6 and Elphaba818 for their help writing this chapter and the next! Without them, it would have taken even longer. Be sure to check out their stories too!**

 **Announcement, Since Last chapter, I started a Tumblr that is going to feature all 199 Valyrian Steel Weapons of Westeros we haven't seen yet+ some bonus art for ones we have seen. Be sure to check it out! I cant post the link on this website so go to Archive of Our Own to get the link!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Petyr

On his way out the door of his establishment, Petyr was surprised to see the Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn just outside with several of his knights. Ser Vardis Egen kept a hand over the hilt of his sword and the visor of his helm down as he always did when he was venturing the streets with Lord Arryn. "My lord Hand," Petyr greeted with a smirk and curt nod, "To what do I owe such pleasure of your company?"

Jon Arryn gave half a smiling nod to Petyr. "Lord Baelish, the funds I requested for the repairing of the city's eastern sewers."

"Oh yes, you caught me at a favorable time. Not moments ago did I sign the documents and they are being sent for delivery as we speak. I expect it won't be two days until your funds are secured." He kept a hand on the stone railing as he walked down the steps of the entrance and one hand waving about like he was a performer about to make a gold dragon appear between his fingers. Whatever act he had to do to make others think less of him in any way, even in the slightest, gave him the advantage.

"Would you care to join me to Red Keep?"

"I wouldn't deny the Hand's Company, especially on a fine day as this." Lord Arryn's squire, Hugh, kept a close pace behind his master. The boy was an occasional visitor to Petyr's establishment and always had some wonderful things to say.

After only a few paces after getting out of sight of the establishment, Lord Arryn broke the silence between them. "I've noticed that you are becoming a rather close friend to our King. I don't mean to judge, I just never knew Robert to be with friends of a certain type."

"A man of books and words instead of swords and armor?" Petyr asked.

"Precisely. You spend much time in his company since you rose to be our Master of Coin. Have you been confided into by our King as of late? He is more… wrathful ever since the Princess left for Winterfell. From a commoner's point of view, it is the frustrations of a father missing his daughter but we both know he hardly ever looked her way."

"Yes, his eyes are fixed on his golden sons. Just the other day I saw him trying to show Prince Joffrey how to wield a hammer instead of a sword. I believe Robert's anger stems from the frustration of our Queen. She misses her daughter and wants a richer life for the Princess instead of the cold wastelands of the North." And she also missed her lover.

"If the rumors about what Tywin's pursuing in the mountains, then it won't just be a cold wasteland any longer. Speaking of Joffrey, I've been hearing of some sick rumors. One of the cooks caught the Prince in the kitchen butchering a cat."

This brought legitimate shock to Petyr. "Oh my. What is Prince Tommen's cat?"

"Thankfully it was just a stray. I imagine if it was Tommen's, the boy would be heartbroken." Lord Arryn sighed in relief.

"Such a rumor doesn't surprise me. Having witnessed a similar event. Instead of a cat, it was pigeons and rats. The Prince thought it hysterical to hide the innards in many of Pycelle's books. He's rather fond of being more like a Lannister than a Baratheon. A cat toying with his prey."

Lord Arryn went silent, almost like he was stuck in thought. "Does Robert ever talk about the Greyjoy Rebellion? I've come to notice his temper rising ever since winning the war."

Petyr played to Jon Arryn's insight and acted as he took it to thought. "Now that you mention it, he was rather excited to go to war, but coming back he was as brooding and furious as the day Ned Stark came north with his sister's bones in tow. Usually, some of my girls would be enough to bring Robert back to his usual self but he hasn't been a regular as he used to be in the past few years. All for the best though, fewer bastards to father. Did you know that since gaining my new position, I've received several letters from women claiming their children are Roberts and demanding some compensation?"

This wasn't a surprise to Jon Arryn. "And more are sure to come. Your predecessor reviewed more than a dozen in his service."

"And I'm sure they all said the same thing mine said. A baby with King's blood deserves a King's ransom. I assumed some of these are simply scams and fooleries to attain riches. Though I had some time and boredom one day and decided to investigate a few of these claims. I went as far as hamlets outside the city to a smithy nearby. I must say that the resemblance was undeniable. Some had the eyes, some had his square jaw. If you ever find an interest for yourself to see, it wouldn't even be an hour of your time spent."

Lord Arryn cocked his head and shrugged. "I suppose if it wouldn't take up too much time, a look would be intriguing. I remember Robert's bastard from the Vale, Mya. She's a woman grown now and serves as a guide to the Eyrie. A kind girl and looks much like her father but doesn't share his temper. Do you know what Robert did just yesterday?"

"The incident with the guard, I heard." Some foolish castle guard said an insulting joke about Robert not realizing the very man was behind him. Instead of getting a laugh from Robert, the guard received a snapped neck. "You were like a father to our king when he grew up in your care. Tell me, do you see Prince Joffrey heading in the same direction as his father?"

"I hope the boy might be simply in a phase with these episodes of animal cruelty. Robert didn't do any of that, he preferred peeping on women dressing and bathing before he was old enough to bed them."

"Hopefully our prince does nothing of that sort with his current hobbies."

Jon Arryn stifled a chuckled as did Petyr. "I think that once Joffrey grows into manhood, he will show more of his father's side. Robert was already drinking at that age yet I've never seen so much as a drop of wine near Joffrey's lips. I believe it's the Queen's influence and care that makes him seem so different."

"She does keep her children close to her. Her little cubs. I imagine when Joffrey is crowned and wed, Cersei might have half a mind to strangle the bride to keep her son."

"Probably. Though Tommen's company might be what she takes herself to. He's certainly proving himself a rather peaceful boy than mischievous and energetic like Joffrey."

"All for the better." Peter agreed. "Traits such as those often lead to a fine man of knowledge when grown. I think we could use more of the sort over men with more brawn than brain."

"No argument there. Too often do I see people in the streets that fall to poverty and living in the gutters. It makes me wonder who they were before they became that way. If they were once respectable people with bright futures and worth recognition..." Lord Arryn began to scratch his chin as he looked down to the road.

"Is something the matter?"

"No no, just thought. Those missives about our King's bastards, do you still have them perchance?"

And the seed has taken root. "I save every document I receive. In times like these, one must always account for every problem that is presented no matter how minor or small it may seem."

"Would you allow me to obtain some copies? I am starting to desire to see our king's natural offspring for myself."

"Absolutely. What idea have you come up with, Lord Arryn?"

"Depending on the legitimacy of these claims, we shall see."

When they crossed over the bridge to the Red Keep, one of the castle stewards was waiting for them. "Lord Baelish, the King has summoned you to your office for a meeting."

"What wonderful timing. The Lord Hand and I shall make haste for his grace."

The steward flinched. "Just you, my lord. It is a private matter, his grace said."

"Nonsense. No matter of the king is private from his head advisor." Petyr falsely fought.

"It's alright, my lord." Jon Arryn said, saving Petyr the time of an argument. "I have much to do anyway. I bid you a found evening."

Petyr bowed his upper body quickly and gracefully. "Perhaps Lord Stannis would be in the want of company. Perhaps share my words about my troubles and he might crack a smile." If Stannis found out the secret of the Queen, there wouldn't be a doubt that such a cold man would seize the chance to take up what he thinks is his.

"The Seven hells will freeze over before Stannis smiles." Jon joked as he departed.

Petyr walked the halls alone, giving an occasional greeting to the nobles he passed by. But instead of heading for the stairs that climbed to the Master of Coin's office, he went to the ones that descended deeper into the Red Keep. The light of day soon disappear for no window was made in the lowest foundations. He found a torch waiting for him and took it as he went into the belly of the Red Keep.

The lower levels were hauntingly quiet, but ghosts were just another idea to frighten idiots who believed in them. But soon bones and skeletons were becoming present. Not the bones of humans, but of the mightiest beasts, dragons.

In the center of the dungeons, there were two other torches set in the ground and conversing between Lord Tywin and the King. Their conversations were muddled but ceased when both men noticed Petyr's arrival.

"Baelish, 'bout fuckin' time you showed your ass. I hate it here." The King grumbled.

Petyr set his torch in a stand on a stone pillar and bowed. "Apologies, the Lord Hand Arryn kept me busy until my arrival. But I have made the arrangements as planned."

"Good. Then let's be quick about this. I'm not missin' Lord Harlton's melee." Given the effects of the dampener from years ago changing the King's state of mood and mind, pleasing him was difficult unless it involved fighting. Lord Harlton was throwing a small event when exotic fighters and women from Essos had come. From what the rumors said, any fights made were to the death, exactly what interested the King.

Robert wandered over to one of the medium-sized skulls. He stared at the thing like it was his next victim of his fury. "Have there been any complications as of late?"

Tywin spoke first. "Nothing that can't be taken care of, your grace. However, even with small numbers being sent to the Wall, the burden of funding their presence is costing more than expected. I have no doubt that my son will succeed in the negotiations."

Petyr stepped in the conversation. "We have yet to decide which course to take when Robb Stark and the Princess conceive an heir."

"We've not the means to discuss it until now," Tywin replied. "With things finally in motion, the time has come to decide what to do should Robb Stark and my granddaughter produce a boy or a girl."

"I do believe that our friend in the North was adamant about betrothing a son of his to a girl of Stark blood. He'll need to in order to tighten his hold on the North for us."

"But should a boy be born," Robert growled, "the name of Stark lives on. We make sure it ends and give Skinless his desired bride for his son. I'm sure Myrcella will suit that boy of his."

"An unfortunate but necessary deed, your grace," Petyr commented with false condolences. "But if it is a girl, we have nothing to worry about. The Starks will die and the North brought to heel."

"Fuck that," Robert growled. "I'm not bringing them to heel, I'm cutting their fucking legs off so they will never stand again. He slammed a fist hard onto the dragon skull and managed to crack the bone. He turned to Tywin. "You make sure the North never forgets."

Petyr smirked. "I have faith they never will. As they say, the North Remembers." It was all coming together so perfectly. Now that things were in motion and the day of execution was on its way, it was time to expand the plot. This war could not end as quickly as planned if things were to play out in Petyr's favor. It was time to find friends who would love to know what is being conceived now. And the best ones to make were in the Reach.

* * *

Tyrion

" _Our mines are drying. Even we call in the debts the crowns owes us, it will not last. That is why we need to mine in the North."_

" _Don't you mean plunder?" Tyrion asked his Lord Father. "If you want the gold so badly, then answer Ned Stark's invitation."_

" _No. The man's hate for me is too much. His stubbornness will be the rift that keeps us from attaining the riches there and my journey will be for naught. He'll make no deal with the likes of me. That is why you will be going in my stead."_

" _What?" Tyrion almost spat the wine he was drinking._

" _You'll be sailing for White Harbor on the morrow and you will secure a deal with the North for the gold."_

 _Tyrion almost laughed nervously. "I'm better at spending money, not acquiring it."_

 _His father didn't scowl for once, instead, the look he gave his dwarf son was one of a mummer's surprise. "I wouldn't be discussing this with you if I didn't believe your talents to be suited for such purpose."_

" _I'm good at conversation and wooing women, not diplomacy."_

" _You have a knack for convincing others to give you what you want. Convince Ned Stark to give us a deal instead of standing over opportunity until the day comes that he's buried with it. Myrcella may not share our name, but she shares our blood and a Lannister is worth more. I will not have her rule a cold, empty wasteland."_

" _You make it sound like you're doing it all for her."_

" _A smart man will do everything he can to better his family. She is still too young to fully grasp the enormity of such things. Our efforts will not only teach her but begin to change the North itself."_

If change was what the mighty Tywin Lannister was aiming to achieve with a mine then it will be a complete miss. Northerners are too stubborn and proud. They cling to their ways as hard as anyone would to furs on a winter night. There was no possible way it would work unless he himself was the Lord of the North itself.

Still, if this was a chance for Tyrion to prove his worth then so be it. Perhaps if he could take control of things in his favor, he might be able to work them into something better, just as he did with the sewers of Casterly Rock.

He was granted ten of his father's men as an escort. He was only given as much because of the additional goods he managed to procure before his departure. If it were just him, he would have only needed three guards. Two for protection and one for company.

It was almost afternoon when they finally arrived at Winterfell. For a first visit, the castle was not much when compared to Casterly Rock, but it was its own.

He didn't try to hide his smile when he saw Myrcella running over to meet them, just as cheerful and filled with joy as she always was.

"Uncle!" she exclaimed happily.

Tyrion was helped down from his horse and almost keeled over when Myrcella wrapped her arms around him. "Look at you! Still beautiful and sober despite your mother's predictions." He teased.

"What? She didn't say that!" Myrcella laughed.

No, Cersei assumed far worse. Raped like an animal and no longer her sweet child. "She fears that you have to wear so many furs that when you see her next she'll see a great bear instead of her sweet little girl!" He darted a hand to tickle her quickly and it made her laugh more.

When Myrcella calmed down, she asked, "Is my mother alright?"

Only on the days when she could have Tommen to herself or when a letter from Myrcella arrived. " She treasures all the letters you send. She keeps a chest just for them and has it under lock and key. If she were king, she'd have an entire castle as a vault to keep them safe forever. As would I if I ever got a letter." He cocked his head with a mischievous smile.

"I'm sorry uncle. There's just been so much here to discover. I can't think of what to tell you first."

"We can talk all about it now that I'm here, my dear. But first, I brought a present for your nameday."

"But you already gave me one this year."

"And I ask forgiveness for that. That lute player was gods awful and we both know it. This gift is one you won't just enjoy but will surely need in lands such as these." He waved his hand behind him as the last of the Lannister soldiers came in. The last one was a handler for a purebred golden mare of that certainly caught many eyes within Winterfell. There wasn't a horse as beautiful as this one anywhere else in the North.

Myrcella gasp and squeezed Tyrion's hand in excitement. "She's mine?" She nearly squealed.

"As Casterly Rock is your grandfather's." He nudged her forward and it was all she needed to run to her new gift. His heart warmed at the sight of Myrcella and her new mare.

Myrcella reached a hand up and softly stroked the mare's snout. "She's so gorgeous. What's her name?"

"That is for you to decide, my dear. She's your horse now and with it comes much responsibility. Just because you are a princess does not mean you can neglect caring for a prize such as this. I don't expect you to shovel after her dropping or those duties, but she will need a bond if you are to truly learn to ride her well. A name will be a good start."

Myrcella didn't miss a beat. "Tulip. Her name will be Tulip. Thank you, uncle!" Myrcella turned and tightly hugged Tyrion so much it squeezed out a groan and a laugh.

When she finally let go, Tyrion took both her hands in his and looked her straight in the eye. "I didn't think of this on spur of the moment, I thought long and hard about what you would need most that I could give you. I've inquired much about Lord Stark's boy, Robb. He loves to ride with the other wards, does he not?"

"He loves it so much. They go out at least once a day and will be gone for an hour on some days and the whole afternoon on the others."

Tyrion continued holding one of Myrcella's hands as he walked were her. "If you practice well and, this will be a great step to bring you closer to him, by learning to do something he enjoys. What else can you tell me of him? Is he handsome?"

Myrcella blushed a light red. "He is."

"Good. I prayed night and day that your father did not betroth you to some under bridge troll. I look forward to meeting him. Is it true Jaime asked him as a squire?"

Myrcella turned glum. "Yes, but Lord Stark wouldn't allow it. He doesn't want the Kingslayer to teach his heir." She leaned into his ear to whisper. "Robb sulks about it a lot but pretends that he isn't."

"Ah, a brooding boy? I wouldn't expect a son of Eddard Stark to have fits like that. But he is a boy denied a great chance."

"Well… he has his reasons and I tried to convince Lord Stark, but he's stubborn. Robb says he more that way ever since his brother passed away."

"Yes, Jon Snow, the b-"

"Don't call him that." Myrcella cut off. "Robb doesn't like it and neither does Sansa. He's a Stark too."

Tyrion nodded and felt gladdened. As one who was a bastard in his father's eyes, he shared the resent for the judgment cast for simply being born and Myrcella knew he did not like the treatment either. "Hm… speaking of my brother, where is he? I would have thought the protector of the Princess would be with the Princess."

"He's…still getting dressed. He can't take the cold days still." Myrcella obviously was covering for Jaime. Today was actually warmer than Tyrion expected.

Tyrion felt to laugh, but it didn't feel right at the moment. He hasn't received any kind of written correspondence ever since they last saw each other at the Capitol. This would be the first he would get to know how the fucking North was treating his brother. He didn't need to know in order to guess. He could tell from all the glares he would find from the peasants and Winterfell guard. A Lannister in the North is an unwelcome thing. And there was also a rumor floating about that Jaime humiliated Ned Stark in a duel.

He caught a glimpse of some boys practicing archery. One had long black hair was as pale as a ghost, another had dirty brown curls and a side face, and the third was auburn-haired and stoic like his father. He pointed over to them. "Is that Robb Stark there?" He asked.

"Oh yes! Do you want to meet him?"

"Of course. For no one but I can deem a man worthy of the most beautiful girl in the world. I'd sprout up taller than the Mountain and carry you away if a fool tried to snatch you away from me."

Myrcella led him to the archery range and the boys ceased when they saw the two of them approaching. The snide looking one almost laughed upon seeing Tyrion. "It's the Imp of Casterly Rock!" He exclaimed without holding back.

Robb Stark gave a quick elbow to the snide boy's stomach, who Tyrion could tell was Theon Greyjoy because of the bronze krackens peened to his belt, and he groaned his way to the dirt.

"Apologies, my lord. I'm Robb Stark." Robb introduced as he stamped the end of his bow into the dirt.

"Tyrion Lannister, the Imp of Casterly Rock and the Dwarf of Tywin Lannister." He didn't try to hide his titles, he showed the boys that he embraced them in public. Hopefully a lesson they could learn. "My word, for Stark, you certainly have more of your mother's Tully looks. Nonetheless, Myrcella, you were right. He is a handsome one."

Robb's brow perked up and Myrcella squeezed Tyrion's arm in embarrassment. "Uncle…" she whispered.

"Have no worry, my dear, I will not embarrass you further. Tell me, have you made any friends here yet?" He looked to Robb. "You have two sisters, do you not?"

"Sansa's my friend and the others too," Myrcella answered.

"I bet you are dying to show them your gift. I can see it in your eyes. Go on and fill them with wonder."

"Alright. I'll show you around later!" Surprisingly, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before running off. He looked back and smiled at her innocence, praying that while she would know the world better as she grew, she would not change who she was.

Tyrion looked back at Robb with studying eyes. "You're shorter than I expected."

"You're taller than I expected." Robb shot back. The pale boy and Greyjoy took their leave with their instructor. The damn squid stole a second glance with a sneering smile. At least Tyrion found someone to have fun with, but what to do to show the boy his place. He's a Greyjoy so it wouldn't be hard.

"Your uncle Brandon was quite the built warrior. I didn't think a boy of your age would still be pup and not a wolf already. Still, you seem a good lad."

"You can tell after just meeting me?

"Just an assumption at first glance. Your need to keep yourself dignified by coming to the defense of a man such as I after being insulted, or perhaps you simply did it because your intended was with me as well and simply wanted to show her that you are not as childish as the squid."

Robb Stark picked up his bow and set it on a rack of them. "I'm simply giving courtesy to a guest in my father's house. It's unbecoming of myself to cling on immaturity like that."

Tyrion grinned at him. "Don't be so dramatic, boy. You are in fact still just a boy. Enjoy it while it lasts. Before the worries of the world fall on your shoulders and rob your spirits of their innocence. If you'll excuse me, I would like to speak with you more, mayhaps at dinner." Tyrion bowed his head and departed from the boy Stark.

Despite only one meeting, Tyrion noticed so much in the boy that reminded him of Jaime when he was younger. The look each of them had deep in their eyes, one of longing of someone lost. For Jaime, it was their mother and for the boy, it was his brother. It seems there would be more to negotiate with Lord Stark besides gold.

Tyrion and his men were led by an old, gray-haired Northern knight into the Great Keep of Winterfell where Lord Eddard Stark, Lady Catelyn Stark, their maester, and several of their house guards were waiting.

"Lord Tyrion," Eddard greeted, "I hope your travels were well."

"Perfectly so. I was blessed with calm seas and blue skies. My father sends his apologies that he could not attend himself for such exchanges. His assistance is greatly needed in the capitol."

"I trust that we can accomplish much with you in his stead, my lord. I offer bread and salt for you and your men." One of the servants carried a small plate of bread pieces in one hand and a small bowl of salt in the other. "The hospitalities of Winterfell are yours."

Tyrion partook of some bread he dipped in salt and was quick to eat it. "Many thanks, Lord Stark. While my travels were pleasant, I feel much more fatigued from the ride as do my men. We request that our meeting be postponed for another day."

Lord Stark simply nodded. "Very well." He stood from his seat. "If you have anything of need, I can assign one of my men to assist."

"For now, what I need is to say hello to my brother. Do you know of his whereabouts?" He noticed that Eddard flinched ever so slightly at the mention of Jaime.

Instead, Lady Stark spoke in her husband's place. "He is usually with the princess, but today he is taking a leave of rest. I believe he is in his room. Jory, lead Lord Tyrion."

"Aye milady," One of their men answered with a voice heavy with a Northern accent. "This way, milord." The man, Jory as he was called, led Tyrion alone into the castle to a room that felt isolated from most of the others. "We will be having supper in the next hour, milord," Jory said before promptly leaving.

Tyrion gave a light knock on the door. "My sweet golden lion, your beloved brother beckons for aid!" He playfully called. He heard a rustle before the door swung open and he saw Jaime standing there.

"Tyrion," Jaime breathed. He opened the door all the way and let his brother enter.

The room was very… minimal. There was a great deal of space but the only things that took it were a bed, a wardrobe, a nightstand, and a trunk. There was also an armor stand with Jaime's Kingsguard armor on it. "Not much compared to the White Sword Tower."

"Only been here a few months."

"And in all that time not a single letter to me, father, Cersei, or anyone. I've had to rely on rumor and whispers to guess how you are. If I had known that you're as bleak as this room is I would've brought better company, maybe a decorator too."

"What's there to tell. The country is shit, the people are shit, the Starks are shit. Did you feel like everyone was watching you as you came in?"

"I'm a dwarf, everyone always looks at me. Perhaps you feel it more because you are the Kingslayer."

Jaime wandered over to the armor stand and picked up a cloth that was resting on one of the spaulders. He cleaned his armor as he talked. "It's more so because I knocked their lord on his fucking ass."

So that rumor rings true. "What possessed you to best Lord Stark in his own home?"

"He asked for it, literally asked for it."

"Well, I can't argue with that. But must you make your time here miserable?"

"Suppose I should start sharing cups with Ned Stark and go on hunts with him. Be real chappy with the bastard."

"Is that so bad? Trying to make a friend rather than keep an enemy?"

"I don't need friends nor do I want any."

"Then what do you want?" Tyrion asked finally.

Jaime stopped cleaning his armor. He hesitated before turning to his brother. "I want those pricks to look at Myrcella and not see the Lannister of her."

That would be hard since she was all Lannister. "She is the sweetest girl any of us have ever met. If she can charm the woman I hate the most then surely the people of the North can learn to fall in love with her as Lord Stark's son is beginning to." From what Tyrion noticed, none of the people had any cold glares when it came to Myrcella. "Are you sure it's really her, or yourself you don't want them to see as a Lannister?"

Jaime scoffed and resumed wiping his armor. "And you wonder why I don't write."

"Indeed. Will I see you at dinner?"

Jaime ignored him and just kept wiping his armor.

At dinner, Tyrion half expected an entire boar or nearly rare red meat served. He didn't expect one of the best stews he had in his life. Potatoes with roast chicken, peas, carrots. Such simplicity yet such flavor, it was remarkable. And the consistency was so thick. The way it warmed him made it feel homey.

While he ate, he shared stories with Myrcella and they were joined by Lord Stark's daughter Arya and the steward's daughter Jeyne Poole. The girls were easily enticed with a story of knights performing nobility at tourneys, but he thought perhaps they needed something more real and unfortunate since they were growing into young women.

"Sadly though, when Prince Oberyn's lance struck Willas off his horse, Willas's foot was caught in the stirrup and his horse as both rider and steed fell . His leg was crushed and any promising career become a knight and a jouster came to an end, further disturbing relations between the Tyrells and Dorne."

"That's so sad." Little Arya said. She was proving to be quite the handful and one of the more interesting Starks. He watched her fight today and was intrigued at how much she was enjoying it. She was the first girl Tyrion had ever met that was learning to do so. He noticed though that despite her joy, she was struggling with handling a large sword. "I don't know what I would do if I lost my leg."

"He still has it, little wolf. It has only gone bad. He requires a brace and a cane. But not all is lost when fighting is out of one's reach. I've spent some time in the company of the heir of Highgarden. He's quite the learned man and has many fine pursuits. He breeds the finest horses from Dorne to the Wall. He's the one I went to when looking to acquire Myrcella's mare."

"Then I'll send him a letter," Myrcella said, "Tulip is such a wonderful horse."

"I'm sure he will be honored to receive thanks. You though, little wolf," Tyrion rustled Arya's hair, "you might find prince Oberyn much of a fascinating man. He has several daughters he teaches the art of combat to."

"Really?" Arya got excited. "Do you think I can learn with him or be his squire?"

"I think you can. But what your father thinks is another matter. That reminds me, I must excuse myself. Though it does pain me so, I do enjoy such youthful and exciting people such as yourselves, my ladies." Tyrion got from his seat with his mug of ale in hand and wandered over to the High table. Lady Stark's seat was vacant given that she was tending to her youngest boy. Since no one was using it, he climbed the seat next to Lord Stark.

"Lord Tyrion." Eddard greeted.

"Just Tyrion, My lord."

"Very well, Tyrion. Is there something you need?" He asked before spooning some soup.

"I was just wondering, is it true that you were the one that challenged Jaime to a duel?"

"Aye. He was more skilled than I predicted and I lost because of it. Nothing more to it."

"Except for some wager, I believe. Something about a cloak?"

Ned Stark kept his eyes on his horn of ale. "He refused it when I offered it to him."

"Probably to spite you for refusing your son to squire for him. Do not take it personal though. He's always been that way to most. The only exceptions are myself, my sister, her children, and a few men he grew up with at Casterly Rock."

"Not your father, though?"

"Especially. Every time they speak, or the last time they did, it always ends with sullen expressions and disappointment from the Mighty Tywin Lannister."

Eddard paused his eating and set his bowl aside to face Tyrion. "I sense you have some speech about your brother prepared to try and sway my decision."

"And the southern people think Northmen are thick as castle walls in the head." Tyrion joked but Eddard had none of it.

"My decision is final."

"Until you think otherwise. I didn't need to ask to guess why you said no. The Lannister name is not welcome here and neither are the ones who bear it. Of course, a man as yourself doesn't want the son of Tywin Lannister filling yours with the incorrect ideas of what is right versus wrong. But you see, you underestimate my brother's intentions as much as his skill if you think that."

Eddard paused. His gaze flinched away for a second. Whatever stance he was taking in this argument was beginning to buckle.

"The fact is my brother forsake his oath to slay the tyrannical king. Dishonorable, disloyal, and it branded him for the rest of his life. He doesn't deny what he did, he wears it proudly as any man would display their family's colors and sigil upon themselves. He wants your son not to teach him how to be like him, but how to be better. To be a great swordsman but more honorable than he. That is why he pursues your heir as a student. To see that Robb can become what he could not."

Tyrion drank heavily from his mug before scooting out of the seat next to Ned Stark. He was tired, he needed a pick-me-up if he was ever going to make it to bed and even more if he wanted a woman to join him.

"Tyrion," Eddard said, stopping him. "How many people are there in King's Landing?"

"Roughly half a million. Why do you ask?"

"Something Myrcella tried to say."

"If it's about what I can guess, you've none better to ask than my brother."

* * *

 **Well, now we know at least some of the plot against the North. but now the question remains when will it happen?**  
 **Leave a comment and tell me what you think**


	20. Chapter 20

**Edits to Jaime and Ned's POV's have been made.**

 **Once again, go check out my tumblr to see some of the 199 Valyrian steel weapons of Westeros.**

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* * *

Daenerys

Whatever that tune the beggar from the streets was singing and playing, it was stuck in Daenerys's head ever since. She would hum it every so often especially when she would be reading from the Magister's library.

Viserys had gone off into the city somewhere, probably a tavern or winery to get drunk. He still wasn't pleased with the results of his labors negotiating for an army. That marks the thirteenth person of power to brush him by. She didn't count the ones when they lived with Ser Willem. He did most of the negotiating and would teach Viserys what he could.

Still, there were always more and surely there would be someone who would see that Viserys had great ambition and a righteous duty he needed help to overcome. As long as the Usurper sat on a throne surrounded by treacherous lords, Westeros was not at true peace. Only a dragon could bring unity and true peace to Westeros, and Viserys is the last, or he always says he is.

Daenerys didn't let it bother her though. Instead of reading a history book or a story of poems and fables, she was looking into a record of sellsword companies throughout Essos. There were so many recorded to have been formed and disbanded or defeated in the last few hundred years. There were several dozen currently active in the Free Cities alone and more throughout Essos.

Westeros had no place for Sellswords to reside given how every inch of the land was governed by a lord or lady. There were more places in Essos to run free and call home for however long one had to until war and business beckoned.

There were many companies that had troops of less than a thousand men but all of them were far more expensive than Daenerys thought they would be. Viserys once told her that it is not blood that is spent in war, but gold.

But even still, a sellsword army might just be enough to raise get things truly in motion. The Prince of Qohor judged them for what they didn't have and getting an army, even just a small one would be a start. Viserys had kept trying to appease larger forces like the Golden Company but not the smaller ones.

She closed her book to take a break from all the reading. She had been doing nothing but since dawn. Eustace was off doing some work with the other house guards. She could use a hot bath and a meal right about now. Maybe a few sweets too if Daro would allow it.

There were many servants and slaves hard at work in the atrium of the manse. They were stretching white and pink silken banners from the tops of the green marble pillars that stretched to the ceiling. Tables with silver and gold dishes were being arranged all around the room but would be filled with delicious foods and drink later in the evening just before the Magister's gala would begin. There would be Myrish dancers and a singer from Yi Ti.

Many of the Magister's powerful friends from Norvos and other cities would be attending tonight. It will be the perfect time for Viserys to try and establish good relations and find potential allies.

It was also exciting given how long it has been since Daenerys got to attend such a party. While at feasts, she would be stuck speaking to whoever she sat with but at something as social as this she would be able to meet many others.

'Tis almost evening, I should be getting ready soon.' She found her usual servant, a bronze-skinned girl just a few years older than her. "Dialla, I would have a bath before the festivities. Go draw one for me."

"Yes, princess." her voice was heavy with a Ghiscari accent. Dialla bowed before going off to her duty. It would be some time before the bath was ready. Until then, perhaps a walk in Magister Daro's garden would be pleasant right now.

She walked through the corridors to go to the back doors. She would have to go across the Magister's private study first. But as she walked by the doors, she heard collective laughter coming from inside. She thought he was alone. Maybe someone had come when she was trying to speak with Viserys before he left.

There were not any guards on duty and all the servants were busy in the atrium so no one would notice if she snooped a little.

She gently pressed an ear the ebony door and listened through.

"...Oh gods, that joke never gets old, my friend," Daro said, still laughing a little.

"Well, it's starting to lose its flavor for me, but I'm glad it hasn't for you." This other man in the room had a much lighter voice than Daro. His accent sounded like he was from the Free Cities. "Well then, to business. Though I must say, are such celebrations really needed for something as simple as this?"

Daro chuckled. "You're completely free to experience yourself the relief of doing what must be done. Gods be good, this is why I never had children, well, no, a child would be easier than him. It finally took me this long to understand why Viserys Targaryen lives up to being called the Beggar King."

Daenerys tensed. Was that laughter earlier directed to her brother? And Beggar King? Viserys has never begged once in his whole life that she knew him.

"If I recall right, he treated with the Prince of Pentos?"

"Qohor, the Prince of Spears."

"Mallin? Oh by the shadows of hell, that really must have been it. I mean, how many favors did you call in to get Mallin here?"

"Too many that weren't worth it. I guarantee that if that idiot had a shred of respect to others, Mallin would have had a different answer-"

Daenerys burst through the door with much anger in her. She wouldn't stand to just listen to men slandering her brother any longer.

Daro, who was reclining on a sofa, became startled and spilled some brandy on his fine robes. "Oh cock!" he exclaimed.

"How dare you speak of the King that way." She glared at both men. The other man in the room was similar in appearance to Daro. Big-bellied, dark curly hair and a beard braided with golden trinkets. "My brother has sacrificed everything we have to pursue his campaign against the Usurper. You know nothing of the trials he has faced and the ones the remain ahead of us."

Daro took out a light grey silk handkerchief and began wiping at the stains in his robes with a sour look. "Well, princess, I never imagined you of the two to be the one snooping where you do not belong. But as far as your accusations stand, they do not matter to me. I haven't fought from the gutters to be where I am, I'm not pursuing to be a King. I have the means to, yet I don't. Why do you suppose that is?"

"Well…"

"Because it doesn't matter to me. I live for profit, not ruling a nation. A crown is too troublesome. When I first met your brother he gave promise. But now seeing his constant failures over and over, I'm convinced that he is indeed the beggar King he is. Always asking for things with nothing to give back in return."

"We do not have nothing, we have ambitions and the will to continue to fight for it."

Daro and his friend began laughing. "And where does one ue ambition for currency in this world, my dear? Even if it were, your beggar of a brother would still be broke. Ambition is a desire to strive for a great reward at the cost of difficult labors. Your brother has desire but refuses to act and instead waits for his demands to be given." Daro set his wine glass down and stood from his sofa. "I've had enough of this. Begone with you and dare not to disturb me for the rest of today until the Gala tonight. You won't enjoy what else will come of any defiance."

One of Daro's "freed" slaves had rushed in and took Daenerys by the arm. She was promptly escorted and brought to her room. The slave said nothing as she closed the door behind Daenerys.

She was furious but powerless. She couldn't stand to know that those men were mocking her brother's efforts. Viserys had his moments of anger and lashings, but with the responsibilities he had and the sacrifices he made, he deserved respect of the men who haven't fought like he has.

She was shut in for an hour until three servants and Dialla came and brought her to the baths. She was stripped and cleaned thoroughly. Oddly though, the women didn't add any oils or scents to the water like usual. They simply used soap to scrub and wash her, nothing more.

She was dried and dressed after her bath. She didn't get to wear any of the gowns that she was looking through that morning. The one she wore was a simple yellow that hung from her shoulders without sleeves and with a pink silk sash tied around her waist.

As her sandals were being laced on her feet, Viserys entered without any announcement of himself. He was dressed in fine black wool and leather boots.

"Danerys," He said with a pleasant tone. "Wonderful, absolutely wonderful." He was inspecting her from head to toe. "You will catch the eyes of many tonight." he softly stroked Dany from her cheek to her collar. It almost made her shudder.

Once she was ready, she walked with her arm linked with Viserys. The atrium was already full of many of Daro's guests. Everyone wore such brightly colored dresses, and there was one woman who had a deep violet dress that exposed her right breast openly.

Viserys was grinning proudly as if the people were a feast laid out before him. No doubt many persons of power were here that he hoped to sway to his cause. But something didn't feel right. As many people turned to look their way, many faces began hiding and suppressing laughter.

Daro made way to the front of his guest. "And here they are, the Last Targaryens, Viserys and Daenerys." He made his way to Viserys' side. "I remember the last time we all gathered and I told you of my plan to host the rightful King of Westeros, many called me a fool and thought it was a joke!" His guests laughed with him but Viserys' lips twitched, almost making an angry frown. "Why, Caulorux even made a bet with… oh gods, which one of you was it?"

Several people raised their hands but everyone kept their smiling faces that made Daenerys worried.

"Well, I regret to admit defeat, my friends." Many applauded Daro.

Viserys leaned over to the magister. "What is going on?" He muttered.

Daro didn't even turn to look at Viserys, he simply continued talking. "And now, for the main event tonight, our celebrations of the departure of the Beggar King and his petty princess."

'Oh no.' Daenerys tried to hold onto Viserys when Daro made his intentions clear but her brother slipped his arm out of her grasp and grabbed Daro by the collar, pushing the fat magister against a wall.

"You cunt! How dare you-" A sharp spearhead was brought to Viserys' neck and it was so close from kissing his skin.

"You're antics and tantrums have entertained and embarrassed me for too long, boy. Now take your sister and get out."

"I am the dragon!" Viserys hissed. "You do not command me."

Daro wore a smug smirk on his face. "No, but I command the spear that will kill you if you do not heed my words, boy."

Viserys was red with anger, baring his teeth like a vicious animal. After staring down the magister for too long, another one of Daro's guards butted his spear into Viserys.

Dany nearly shrieked and pulled her brother to his feet. He was alright, but another guard had come between him and Daro.

"Magister, please!" Daenerys begged.

"Get them out." Daro ordered just as a cup of wine was brought to him. He smirked as he sipped the sweet drink and watched his men force Daenerys and Viserys out.

Daro and his many guests were snickering and laughing as they were forced out of the manse. "I would wish you luck in your campaign, but I don't think you could even afford that." They all laughed greatly as the doors were shut on them. Three of Daro's household guards stood ready with their spears gripped tightly.

"Leave now," One of the men said.

Viserys sneered at them. "How dare you think to give me a command! I am a King!"

The three guards lowered their spears and firmly pointed them at Viserys and Daenerys. "Leave!" The leader said firmly.

"What about our things?" Daenerys pleaded. The last of their treasures, their mother's crown included, were still in the manse. "Please, just let us get our possessio-" One of the house guards thrusted the butt of his spear into her stomach. She cried out and felt the wind knocked out of her.

Viserys knelt to her side as she tried to find her breath. The pain lingered as she finally was able to breath in.

"That's your only warning… who the fuck are you?" The guards shifted their gazes from Viserys and Daenerys to behind them.

With welling tears partially blurring her sight, Daenerys looked behind with her brother and saw a lone man with a longsword drawn. This man was taller than most by a little, and despite his outward appearance, he stood gallantly. Hard worn clothes on a man with warm, calming features. His gray cloak was held at his shoulder by a clasp of three silver swords that formed a triangle from tip to pommel. Long auburn hair and gentle indigo eyes, a chiseled jaw freshly shaved, this man looked everything that Daenerys pictures when she imagined what a noble knight looked like in a story.

"How dare you." The man spoke and pointed his sword at the guard that struck Daenerys. "You will die first." He dashed forward and in a sheer instance cut through the guards spears and impaled him with his sword. The other two guards were too slow to react and before they could defend themselves this man sliced his sword across the exposed neck of one and them thrusted the tip into the last guard's shoulder.

The last remaining guard screamed out and dropped his spear as he fell to his knees. The man twisted his blade still in the wound to earn another loud scream. "They asked for their things. You and I are going to go get them."

"Fu-" Before the guard could insult the man, the blade was shoved deeper and pierced through the other side of the guard's shoulder. "Alright!" He screamed. "Just take it out! Take it out!"

"Ask me nicely."

"Please! Take it out please!" The guard screamed.

The man obliged and pulled his sword out of the guard's shoulder. As blood spilled, the man turned to Daenerys and Viserys and immediately fell to one knee. "Your graces, King Viserys and Princess Daenerys, I offer a thousand apologies for years of tardiness not being at your side to protect you. I am at your service." He looked back to the bleeding guard struggling to get up. "I will just be moment and have what is yours returned to you." He walked to the bleeding guard and grabbed him hard where the stab wound was.

As the guard screamed and yelled on their way to the manse, Daenerys looked up to her brother. "He looks like he's from our home." Daenerys said.

"Yes… I feel like I've seen him before. Maybe at court, but I hardly remember any of the faces I've seen." They both flinched when a crash came from inside the manse followed by a collective scream. For a man who looks as gentle as he did, he was certainly ruthless when it came to a fight, something that put a smile on Viserys.

Minutes later, the man returned with a small satchel in hand, sword resting in its scabbard, and a small amount of blood splattered on his left cheek. When he returned to the Targaryens, he knelt down on one knee and opened the satchel. "Is this everything you had, your grace?" he asked.

Viserys looked through it, ignoring everything and found the box that had their mother's crown. He opened it and sighed in relief when he saw it still there. He looked to the man. "Who are you?"

"I'm Ser Dillion, one of the few that refused to bend the knee to a false king and managed to escape unjust judgement. I served under your father at court and fought against the Usurper's forces. I've been searching for you two for years now. Prince Viserys, You are indeed the image of a King, and Daenerys… you look just like the Queen." He smiled at Dany and it made her feel safe. "I received a favor from the Prince of Qohor. It looks like I came at the right moment." He rose up and looked straight to Daenerys. "Are you alright, my princess?"

"Y- yes." Daenerys found herself almost starstruck by Ser Dillion. "I'm glad you came."

"Hold it," Viserys put an arm between her and Ser Dillion. "We've come across shit like you before. You use sweet words and good intentions but your just another thief."

"If I were a thief, I would have done already, your grace. Your both unarmed, at the edge of helpless, and have no one else to protect you."

"Can you prove it?" Daenerys asked.

"I have only my word and oath, princess."

"You are just a gutter knight." Viserys said. "What can you offer us?"

"Shelter, protection, guidance, and allies. There are others such as I that wish to return home at the side of the rightful King."

"How many?" Viserys asked with eagerness.

"Only a handful, your grace. Four to be exact."

"Four? You think four men will make a difference in my campaign for the throne?" Viserys seethed.

Daenerys tugged on her brother's sleeve. "It's better than having none at all." She was met with a backhanded slap to her face. It had enough force that she fell to her knees.

"You haven't a fucking say inthis! You upset Daro, didn't you? You've woken the dragon!" He raised his hand to slap her again but he was grabbed by Ser Dillion and held firmly.

"You really think it wise to waste time beating your sister? Every moment you do, that's a longer time away from the throne."

Viserys jerked his handed free and rubbed where he was grabbed as if he was injured in some way. "If you claim to be loyal, then you will never do that again." He grabbed Daenerys and pulled her from the ground. "Whether or not you and your band of pisswater men are worthy is mine to decide."

Ser Dillion bowed his head. "Very well. I do not doubt those that await to meet you will disappoint, your grace." He offered an arm to Daenerys. "Would you honor me, princess?"

Daenerys didn't mean to go to him so quickly, her body simply moved instinctively for someone other than her brother. She gave him half a nervous nod and he smiled warmly back at her. The way he did it almost made the sting in her cheek disappear

"You needn't worry, princess. Everything will be alright."

* * *

Ned

The Men of the Mountains poured into the Great Hall and Ned was glad to see them here today. To say they were dressed in fine clothes would be false, but they still wore their finest. Furs cloaks of game they hunted themselves, wool clothes perfect for the cold up high. Mikken Harclay was the only one to carry a weapon at his side given that he was the only chieftain to own a sword, especially one made of Valyrian Steel.

Hugo Wull extended his arms out when he approached him. "Ned!" The great burley chief shared a brotherly embrace with Ned who was all too glad to see. Hugo had been in correspondence with Ned about the issue and was in full support of mining the mountains. The other chiefs would need great convincing, however.

"Glad you made it." Ned greeted.

"Glad to have an excuse to warm my ass in this place." He heaved a great laugh with Ned before releasing him. Ned shared greetings with the other chiefs and shared pleasantries.

"Thank you all for coming so quickly," Ned told them.

"Bet the Liddle's wife would say different." Torghen Flint jested, earning an uproar of laughter from many except the Liddle. Torren Liddle simply elbowed Torghen in the stomach and made for a seat at the table. The other Mountain lords did the same as the commotion died down.

"The Ned, you must tell us," The Harclay started. "How can you stand to have not one but two of Tywin's fuckin' cubs under your roof and sharing your hospitalities? They have no place here or anywhere in the North."

"Not true," Tim Knott argued. "The only place the Kingslayer is welcome is the Wall where he belongs."

"My lords," Ned said with a firm voice. "I welcome you all into my home, but I will not have you dishonor those that are my guests, regardless of reputation."

There was disgruntled silence that followed but nevertheless they obeyed. "The princess is quite the beauty though. A fine woman she'll be for your son when they wed."

At this time, Tyrion Lannister arrived with one of his men carrying his things. Papers, quills, inks, and more. "Apologies for my tardiness, my lords. I underestimated the potency of Northern ale and have come to regret my intake last night while at the same time find myself ashamed I could not withstand more. I found myself waking up in a brothel with more clothes on than I remember starting with." He said with a pleasant tone.

Hugo began laughing and was the only one. "This is Tywin's imp? He's more funny than I thought he'd be."

"He doesn't have lizard scales or a tail like the rumors say," Mikken said. He had his arm resting on the guard of his sword, almost expecting that Tyrion was a monster to be fought off if needed. The sword was his family's and the only Valyrian steel weapon of the Mountain Clans, Winter Moon. The blade itself had more worth than every Clan combined.

Tyrion simply smirked as he sat down. "I find wise to not believe in rumors, my lords. Or are the ones about your people true? You have toes of stone, make love to trees? Well, I imagine the altitude may disorient you to perform the latter if beer is involved."

Hugo laughed heavily at such a remark while Mikken simply sat up with a sneer. "You might be the only Lannister I'll enjoy." Hugo leaned over his seat and picked up a box he had. He dropped it on the table and slid it forward. "This is your father's gold. The death of my people is not something that can be bought, dwarf."

"It was not meant as an insult, my lord."

"We're not lords," Mikken commented. "Heads are addressed by the name of his House."

"Well then, my… Wull?" Tyrion asked.

"The Wull." Hugo corrected.

"Well then, the Wull, I apologize on behalf of my father. He was not trying to buy justice or compensate for it, only to give something back as a gesture of goodwill. While details such as housing and limbs of stone are rumors, there are some things I made sure to learn before my arrival." Lord Tyrion sat back, getting comfortable in his seat. He shifted his gaze to Ned. "Shall we proceed with business, my lords?"

"Fuck business." Torren Liddle blurted. "We know Tywin's after every fuckin' pound of dirt under our feet now that his grandaughter in the North. He thinks he has a right to our lands before our Lord's son is even married."

Brandon Norrey nodded in agreement. "He sends hundreds of men a year to take the black but they all still wear his colors. Looks more like an invasion instead to me. You southern pricks toss pennies to Wall while it's we in the North that have to carry the Wall on our shoulders."

Tyrion finally got a word in. "Such accusations. I thought by now we all would have learned not to hold onto the likes of rumors and assumptions."

Ned waved his lords off. "I too have been curious of why Tywin Lannister would be sending men to the Wall. I doubt it's to uphold the peace of the realms and is generous spirit." His suspicions were great because of the leads indicating it was House Lannister that sent the knife meant to kill Robert but that took Jon's life instead.

"If that were the case, my lord, then I would have been named Lord of Casterly Rock years ago. My lord father does not do anything without our family's best interest in mind. Him sending men to Wall is for the benefit of Princess Myrcella." Tyrion gave pause to let the words sink in so curiosity for more could arise. "My father's taken much interest in the North since Myrcella's betrothal was first conceived. When reports of increased Wildlings raids and findings of them as far as the Reach had become clear, he made plans to take no chance of risking Myrcella's safety. I wouldn't doubt that if one saw Myrcella they wouldn't hesitate to do everything they possibly could to get their hands on her, whether through brutal tactics or cunning wits like Bael the Bard. Tell me, Lord Stark, since the increase of men in service, have the number of raids reduced in recent years?"

Ned nodded. "Aye, that is true. However the costs of supporting that many men at the Wall are becoming greater with every man sent. I've confirmed with Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon that the Southern kingdoms have been lacking in financial support when compared to the North."

"And is that not one of the reasons why I am here today? To discuss such exchanges and find gain rather than loss? My father sends five gold dragons with every man that takes the black." Tyrion looked over to the Norrey. "Indeed, they do not shed their colors because it is cheaper not to. Lannister armor and weapons are the finest made in the Seven kingdoms. If his granddaughter were not to be the Lady of the North, he would be stripping his men naked before sending them away. Now, my lords, if all we are to do is continue on with such bickering, then do so after I depart so I do not waste my time."

Before his men could speak in retaliation, Ned raised a hand and silenced them. "I offer my apologies, Lord Tyrion. Please tell us your Lord fathers proposition."

Tyrion gave a nod to Ned as a form of thanks. "That town outside Winterfell is quite lacking in populace, Lord Stark. At least in the Summer but in Winter, it's filled to the brim, am I wrong?"

"You are correct," Ned said. He leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his wrapped hands.

"Winters are especially harsh here, much more so in regions such as the Mountains." Tyrion switched his gaze back to the chieftains. "When winter comes, you send the young to live here to avoid the terrors of the cold and ice. Even still, there are those that cannot withstand. The North loses many to winter every season. Tell me, Lord Stark, do you keep a record of such things?"

"No, but I have reports told to me and I will never forget." Just as his father would do. When he was a boy, the worst winter took the lives of over a thousand people across the kingdom.

"Not everyone is lucky to have a fire or a roof and walls to keep them warm. And these unfavorable circumstances build up and within a hundred years the North will lose tens of thousands not to war but weather." He gestured to the box of gold. "This small portion itself could feed a hundred over the course of three years or three hundred for a year. With the wealth beneath the mountains, many more lives can have what those before did not. A chance to survive and live better. Crops are difficult to grow without glass gardens or summers free of snow and harvest is just as costly."

"Aye," Ned agreed. "My great-grandfather Edwyle almost emptied the North's coffers to feed his people." He straightened himself in his seat. "I will not swerve from the truth, if the North had the gold then our people would flourish more, even in winter." His eyes narrowed at Tyrion. "But your father seems to think that just because he found out that he has a right to it."

"Not entirely, my lord. If he truly believed that, he would have sent his armies to claim it instead of his son to negotiate business. As his granddaughter is to become the future lady of Winterfell and the North, he wishes to take the chance to establish good relations between our houses. Such a venture as this is a perfect place to start."

"Then what is it he is offering, and what is he asking for it?"

Tyrion snapped his fingers and his servant brought forth many rolled up papers and scrolls. He gave one specific to his lords and Tyrion unrolled it on the table. "My father, Lord Tywin Lannister, is offering his best miners to begin work on digging and harvesting the minerals that are beneath the earth, builders to create proper roads and if needs be construct a town or village that his men may find proper rest and shelter in, ships to transport the gold to Lannisport where it will be refined, crafted, and sold for the highest reasonable price."

Ned kept a square face. "So much work done on his end for the wealth under my lands. What is he asking?"

"He's not asking, he requires sixty-five perecent go to House Lannister and the remaining thirty-five shall come back to House Stark. We'll bear all the costs of construction, shipping, providing for the men, etcetera. It will be nothing but complete profits returned to you."

Mathematically and logically, that was a rather fair asking price. Half of it would most likely be spent on all the services being done to harvest the gold and other ores. But it was still too much in Tywin's favor. "Tywin is quite keen to have as many of his own men doing the work."

"The Westerlands has the finest and hardest of workers in the Seven Kingdoms. If we begin now, we could be seeing profits in two years."

"I believe you, but I would see to it that my people have a share in the opportunities on my lands. We can provide our own miners and work alongside your father's men. We have ships of our own and I'm certain the Lannister Fleet is still rebuilding from the war."

"You are perceptive, my lord. Rebuilding the Navy is proving to be costly. With this venture, the demands for more ships to transport and trade will be needed providing more work for my people as well."

"Tell me this, my lord."

"Tyrion. Let us forsake formalities for the hour. I believe a wise man once said that if such things were left out of conversation then we will all get twice as much done by the time we are bones in the dirt."

The Wull laughed again, so much that he slapped his leg hard. Once he calmed down, Ned resumed. "Very well, Tyrion. Your father is hard pressed on a joint deal rather than something simpler. Why should I simply not mine the gold and sell it to him to do what he pleases?"

Tyrion smirked and straightened himself in his seat. "Because of two reasons, my lord. First, independently, you will not make even half as much as you would with my father's help. Not only is his resources being offered to you, but his connections and his own skills in the trade as well. My father has established relations with the finest of merchants all around the world and what he has to offer he will make sure they will buy at the highest price. It is true, the Westerlands will be taking the larger sum of what is earned, but what the North receives will be ten times what it makes annually without any risk. You will have funds for a great many things much needed. Glass houses for crops in the winter, a new navy," Tyrion cocked his head to the Mountain Men, "proper housing and shelter for those without when the real winter sets in."

"And the second?" Ned asked.

"The second reason is rather straight forward. Tell me, do you know where exactly these potential mines are located?" Tyrion asked.

Ned suddenly felt like a fool that was played. In all this fuss over the mountains, he knew or learned where these riches were. He looked to his men of the mountains but none of them had any answer. "No."

"Usually in a deal such as this, there is something called a finder's fee. My Father is willing to overlook such a detail in hopes of better forming a good relation with House Stark and the North. Of course, you know that there is gold in those vast mountains now, you could try looking for it yourself, but do you know where to begin?"

Ned sat back in his seat, pondering the best option. Damn these Lannisters. Whenever it came to money they always seemed to get the upper hand. He looked to his men. "What say you all in this matter?"

The Norrey shook his head. "Nay. I don't want more Westermen defiling my lands and my people as the have the Wull's. We have persevered for thousands of years without the riches and will continue to do so for thousands more."

The Wull waved the Norrey off. "Fuck that. My people shiver at the peak of summer as do I. I say yay. It's about time we take advantage of opportunities." All but the Liddle and the Norrey nodded in agreement. "But you are our lord, Ned. We follow and trust your decision."

Ned looked back to Tyrion. "Your fathers terms are a great offer but ask too much. These are my terms. Your father's miners will be joined with Northmen to mine the minerals of the mountains. I will send word to Lords Manderly, Mormont, and Tallhart to provide ships and workers to assist in transport and construction of a residence for the miners. As such, I will expect more of the profits. The North will bear the majority of burdens to begin. The gold and emeralds mined will go to the Westerlands for trade, crafting, etcetera. But the copper and iron will go to the North for refinement, craft, trade, etcetera." Ned had been thinking on Jaime's words before their duel. Boiled leather brigandines were warm and tough but plate steel would serve his men better. His men deserved better quality for wars against men and winter and the prices of steel were growing. But now that they had access to their own source, the costs would stay the same, maybe more, to manufacture armor and weapons, but there would be profits in the end of it.

"Hm, I see you want to have some independence in this. I can respect that but I would also disadvise it." Tyrion said. "My father knows some of the finest smiths in King's Landing that supply his soldiers with the best quality of armor. If you were to send the Iron with the gold, he would surely-"

"I've seen Lannister armor. It is some of the finest made and quite pretty. I'd say there's more decorations than then there is plate. We have no need of so much of that, a little is desired but not as much as what your father has done for his soldiers." So much that was unneeded was put into the making of Westermen armor. Etchings, inlays, guilding steel with gold or brass. The most his men had in that matter where the shields bearing the Stark sigil they carried. "The North will keep the iron and manufacture it ourselves."

Tyrion cleared his throat. "I see you are one to be unmoved by your choice. May I suggest a wager of sorts?"

"I haven't had much luck with wagers involving Lannisters as of late." Ned replied. "But you've already begun, so to speak."

"While it is indeed true that my father gives his men decorative armor, it is still the finest. I wage that a set of my father's finest made armor can beat the finest made in the North. If I am wrong and the North truly has the finer set, then I shall inform my father to look north for armerors instead of the capitol. But If I am a man true to my belief and win, instead of all the iron going with the gold, only half shall."

"Half?"

"I believe Northerners are too stubborn to be beaten and give up afterwards. Surely your best smiths will seek to improve the craft. I wouldn't want to deprive them of the materials."

Ned sat back in his seat and scratched at the chin of his beard. It didn't sound half a bad idea. It would give a chance to truly compare the quality of northern goods to southern. If the North was indeed lacking in fine made armor then it would be good to seek ways to improve. "Very well. I'll speak with my armorer and arrange the details."

"And I shall send a raven to my father to do the same, my lord. So for now," he snapped his fingers to his servant and blank parchment was brought forth, "I don't expect us to have this wrapped up in a single afternoon, my lord. But for what we've discussed, are we in agreement?"

Ned took a look at how his men were acting during all this. It looked like the Liddle had a changed expression, one of neutrality, but the Norrey remained in denial about this. Obviously, the finer details would have to be discussed later on. This would all be rather vague if written on a contract agreement. But for now, the progress they achieved was a start. He would have to figure out how to make the terms in his and the North's favor.

Still, he had to be cautious about every detail. Once Bronn reports from the Iron Islands, hopefully he will have something of worth that either confirm the trail that leads to the Lannisters responsible for the plot against Robert or reveal it to be a false trail. For the time being, he would have to risk letting lions into the wolf's den.

"Aye."

* * *

Jaime

Today was dull just as the rest were. The same damn blue skies and the same damn chilling breezes. It didn't matter that Jaime got a new cloak despite his change of mind, he hated the damn North.

He didn't show it though. Not while Myrcella had to learn to love the place. She was doing much better adapting to the living conditions than he was. She was happy with her new friends, she was taking a liking to Robb Stark, and she liked the atmosphere of Winterfell. As long as she was smiling, that was enough for him.

He watched her silently playing some games with the other girls. At first they were looking over the battlements of the castle to guess the purpose of travelers going to and from Wintertown to Winterfell or elsewhere. Now they were playing some game that involved one girl blindfolded as she tried to catch the other children around them.

There was laughter and smiles, but none of it from Jaime. He simply stood dutifully in his gilded armor and white cloak with a sullen mood. Eddard Stark's words still held a grip over his thoughts and he couldn't shake them, he could only ignore them since the bastard clearly had too much honor to listen or care for his reasons.

He didn't mean to forget to watch over Elia and the children, he was just so overwhelmed with what he did. He was consumed with what his surviving brothers would say to him when they saw he had killed the King they all swore to protect. Ser Barristen Selmy had none, he didn't have the right to angry given his bending the knee to Robert Baratheon. But he still looked at Jaime with shame. A man and a true knight he admired ever since he was old enough to admire knights had a room of disgust for him.

"Uncle!" Myrcella called out.

"Yes?"

"Come have a turn! See if you can catch pretty maidens as good as you can fight!" She giggled with the other girls.

Jaime shook his head. "I am your guard, not your playmate."

Myrcella simply shrugged him off and let one of the younger girls, one of the Pooles, have a turn. However, she didn't partake in running away from the little toddler, instead she came to his side.

"Are you still angry at Lord Stark?"

"No." Jaime replied without even looking at her. He just continued to watch the other girls play.

"You do not appear to be so."

"Princess, my matters are mine to handle and deal with. I would ask that you do not meddle in them more than you already have."

"Hmm… will you walk with me?"

"It is my duty to go where you go, princess." He rested his left hand on the hilt of his golden sword and followed alongside Myrcella.

"I just don't understand why he can't be grateful."

"As I've said, princess, do not meddle-"

"I'll do as I please, I'm the princess." She almost scowled at him. "Why don't want to talk about it?"

"It's not my duty to talk, only to guard and protect you."

Myrcella sighed. "I just don't understand why Lord Stark or anyone is grateful."

"It's because I'm a Lannister. They don't like Lannisters and never will. That's the way of things."

Myrcella shook her head. "I don't think that's true. I saw some of Lord Stark's men laughing last night with Uncle Tyrion. They like him."

"Tyrion didn't stab his King in the back."

Myrcella huffed a breath as if in defeat after constantly trying and failing to understand. She ran in front of Jaime and faced him. "Maybe you should start being more like Uncle Tyrion instead of… this." She gestured with both her hands to him.

Jaime nearly chuckled. "Maybe one day, princess." he found himself hugged by her. "What's this now?"

"I feel like you really need one, uncle." She tightened her grip and Jaime gave her a light pat on the back. He took a quick glance around and noticed many people watching. "I want you to be happy here too."

He cleared his throat. "That's enough now."

"Just a little more." Myrcella argued.

Jaime felt embarrassed, but also a bit angry. Not angry at Myrcella but himself. Angry that he couldn't return her affection without somebody asking why. 'The Kingslayer showing love? Something evil is amiss if things have come to that.'

"Alright, that's alright, Myrcella."

She finally let him go but held onto his hand as they resumed walking. "Uncle Tyrion is going to ask Lord Stark for a tour of the mountains. He wants me to go too. After that, we're going to see the Wall, and maybe even go beyond, and after that sail from Eastwatch by the Sea to White Harbor."

"Well then, I'll definitely have to come. I'll see if I've been missing out on the adventures of the Night's Watch since remaining a White Cloak." He didn't spare a second thought for the order, even if his father was sending men to make something of what it once was.

"Mmm, I don't think black suits you. You fit your white cloak best out of all the Kingsguard."

"Even Ser Barristan?" Jaime asked.

"I saw him trip over his once. He nearly fell flat on his face."

That finally got a laugh from Jaime. He noticed that over by the stables, Domeric Bolton was saddling his horse. "Have you asked Robb Stark to ride with you yet?"

"Um… I was hoping you could show me first. I'd rather know how to ride a horse first when I go with Robb."

"That, I will not refuse, princess." He promised. "But first, you're going to need something."

"What's that?"

"Riding breeches. Your mother would take my head if anything happened to your dresses. I can't imagine what she'll do when she finds out your riding at all." he nearly shook in his boots at the thought. "Go on and find the seamstress and have her make you a pair. We can start when your dressed for the occasion."

Myrcella squeezed his hand softly and smiled warmly at him. Gods, she was so beautiful and sweet. He hoped nothing would take that away from her as long as possible. He knew the troubles of the world would fall on her once she was a woman grown, but he believed that wouldn't even stop her from smiling like this. He watched pleasantly as she ran off back to her friends. Was she going to invite them to do the same? They might if she did. After all, a princess's 'ladies in waiting' did not want to disappoint her.

The smallest of smiles grew on Jaime's face. He hated the North, but as long as Myrcella was happy here then that was enough for him. Maybe he should start to write for Cersei. If she heard from him that their daughter was happy then maybe she would be too.

He heard a commotion happen over by the stables. One of the coursers was growing wild being close in the presence of Myrcella's mare. The giant simpleton was attempting to subue to horse but he was too cowardly to get any closer. The oaf kept shouting his name over and over, it was getting annoying.

Jaime thought to find a good spot to watch the show. One of these Northern idiots would probably do something stupid and get hurt, it would be ammusing.

'Maybe you should be more like Uncle Tyrion instead of… this.'

Dammit all, why did she have to care as she did. Always concerned with others and always wanting them to smile as she did.

He grunted angrily at himself as he pressed onward to the stables. A few Northmen were crowding around the courser, trying to subdue it the wrong way. All of them brutes more than men.

He slipped his way past them with a single hand up to the horse and without fear. "Easy now," He spoke with calm words and made sure that the eyes of the horse were locked with his. "Easy," he clapped his hands a single time, getting the horse to stay fixed on him. The beast reared and almost kicked him but Jaime didn't even flinch. He lowered his head as if a king were in his presence and showed respect. "Easy now… easy." He clapped again courser began to move lighter than before, neighing once. Jaime extended his hand and managed to brushed his fingers over the snout. "Easy… there you go." The Horse thrashed his head about but began resting himself. Jaime stepped forward and brushed a hand down the courser's neck with one hand and over the snout with the other. "There you go, wonderful."

"Kingslayer," Someone whispered.

Jaime's jaw tightened when he looked to who said his name. The ass was holding a bit and rope out to him. Jaime slowly took each and strapped the bit into the courser's mouth. Rope tied and horse calmed, Jaime guided it away from the stables.

"Ser Jaime." Of course Ned Stark had to be there. "I've never seen anyone calm a horse that well, especially mine."

"Ah, so this is one of yours." He offered the rope to Ned who kindly took it. "Might want to find a private stable for the princess's horse. Tulip isn't a broodmare and won't bode wel surrounded by tough men in heat."

"Right you are. Hodor, see to it that Tulip is moved. Jory, take Oaken for a ride." The young captain of the guard swiftly took the courser from his lord and everyone around dispersed.

Instead of gratitude for helping, the Northerners still showed that fucking look in their eyes that despised Jaime. He made to leave himself, but Ned Stark's hand on his spaulder stopped him. "Is there something you need, Stark?"

"A few words, Ser." Stark led Jaime out of the courtyards to the southern walls. They climbed the steps to the top of the battlements and he sent the guards on shift there away for now.

Ned stopped just before the corridor underneath a guard tower. He turned and faced Jaime. "I've had much time to think things over. Outside opinions of you are cold whenever it isn't from someone close to you."

"I think it's the same for everybody." Jaime said as if it were the obvious thing. 'Anyone who isn't one of us is the enemy.' His sister's words rang in his head so clearly.

Ned cleared his throat. "Would you be willing to tell me something?"

"At what cost? My father always liked to say a Lannister never gives without getting in return." He stifled a laugh but felt hardly in the mood to torment the bastard in front of him. "If only a red cloak was stricken on my shoulders instead of a white."

The was a sullen pause as the men stared at each other irritably. Was Stark not the mood? If Jaime had to put up with the despise he must face in the North then surely the Warden could put up with a few japes.

"You're niece mentioned that you saved half a million people when you stabbed the Mad King in the back."

Jaime's pompous mask broke. 'Dammit, why did she have to mention that?' Myrcella was sweet to try and fight for his honor despite there being none, but she needed to learn not to stick her nose in matters that do not concern her. "An exaggeration is all."

"I don't believe you." Stark argued.

Jaime wore his mask again and cokced his head as a form of shrugg. "If you want some answers you think exists, beat me in a fight."

"I have no time for constant squabbles with you and a sword."

"As opposed to having time for hunts while your sick children get stabbed to death?" Jaime tested.

The first thing he saw was the rage on Ned Stark's face before the fist came out of nowhere on hit hard on the left of his jaw. He felt himself bite his cheek and the taste of blood followed as he was forced to his knees. He was quickly picked up and shoved hard against the battlements. Ned Stark forced him halfway over the side, one push and Jaime would go tumbling to the ground.

"If you ever," Ned growled like a bear instead of a wolf, "mention my son's death like that, I will take off your hands with one swing of Ice."

Jaime grunted as he was pressed down, forcing him into a position that didn't allow him to reach his dagger. He spat the blood in his mouth to the side and almost grinned. He always thought that Ned Stark disregarded his 'son' but he still had much guilt weighing on him just as Jaime did for the other Targaryen children. Ned being a Stark though made him far easier to anger and lash out. He wondered if his father would retaliate if word got out to him. "And the Quiet Wolf shows his teeth."

Ned Stark breathed steadily before releasing his grip and pulling Jaime up. He shook his head and walked away.

"I thought Northerners were too stubborn to give up so easily." Jaime said as he wiped the blood on his lips on his glove.

Ned stopped and turned back on his heel. "I thought I could find an ounce of respect to give you, Kingslayer. I thought wrong-"

"Wildfire." That was all Jaime said before rubbing his hand over where Ned Stark punched him. Damn, it stung harder than the flat of Oswell's blade in practice. "Aerys always loved what his pyromancers shit out in their laboratories." At this point, he captured Stark's attention again but the anger remained. "So much that he had it put underneath the city everywhere he could. Everyone simply thought he wanted to be amused every time he kept shouting those fucking words. Burn them, burn them all." He looked Stark dead in the eye. "No one figured his final words were his last command when I killed him. Burn them, burn them all." The anger vanished and was replaced with dread. "I will not let Tywin fucking Lannister take my city. Bring me your father's head, boy, and then we shall burn them, burn them all. Did you think I truly took pleasure in what I saw done that day? That I did it for the glory and pride of my father? You think the smile on my face when you saw me was a proud one? It was all a mask to hide the fear. Fear of my sworn brothers, fear of people, fear of what was to come."

The Lord of Winterfell was back to what he is, a Quiet Wolf. He said no words for he had none. There was nothing but shock and confusion stricken about him. "I… I don't believe you. I can't."

"Of course not. Something like like is out of my capacity and morality to do. A Lannister doesn't do anything without asking the price, don't we?"

"I… I…" The fool stuttered. "I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't, nobody did because nobody asked."

"Then why didn't you say a damn thing? Why didn't you explain yourself? Cleared your name?"

Jaime let out a humorless laugh. "Because of you. Because the Honorable Ned Stark saw me and declared me Man without honor, and who listens to anyone without? Who needs to hear the excuses of why a Kingslayer broke his vows?" he paused, turning to look Ned right in the eye. "Tell me, Lord Stark, what right does the wolf have to judge the lion?"

Ned said nothing. He just stared back solemnly.

Shaking his head, Jaime turned and looked back over the railing, staring down at all the Northerners milling about in the castle courtyard. "Everyone only saw the crime and wanted punishment for the traitor that saved their fucking lives! Robert was the only one willing to give me a damn thing for what I did."

"What do you mean?"

Jaime leaned his elbows on the stone. "My father spoke with Robert and arranged for my white cloak to be removed. I could have had Casterly Rock back, my place as heir, the power of a Lannister, all of it." He looked back to Ned with anger. "Instead, I chose to keep my cloak and forsake my father's desires. Because I failed my friend and didn't protect his family. Because I'm an Oathbreaker, a Man Without Honor. The Kingslayer." He pulled himself to stand straight and turned on his heel, leaving the Honorable Ned Stark. He said too much than he needed.

Ned Stark looked out to his lands. "You were right." This time, it was him who stopped Jaime with words.

Jaime looked at him.

"I didn't win that fight against Ser Arthur. I lost. It was a dagger in the back that defeated him."

Jaime felt his chest tighten for an instance. Arthur Dayne, the greatest knight to ever live was defeated by a knife in the back. Arthur didn't deserve that kind of fate. And yet, hearing that brought a calmness about him. "I suppose you felt wrong about that, given the dishonor in it."

"I wanted my sister back and he stood in my way. Had I been the one with the dagger instead of the sword, I would have done it too. But I'll never forget that look in his eyes. He wasn't angry or betrayed. He did his duty to the last." Ned hung his head down, as if ashamed.

Was that statement meant to remind Jaime that he did not? "He is loyal man and a true knight then. I thought I could be that once Rhaegar was crowned." He turned back and slowly stood next to Ned Stark. "My word's about your late son, I apologize for them, my Lord Stark."

"And I for your jaw, and… my judgement. I was taught that if I had to choose honor or duty, I should do whatever was right."

"Of course you would. Otherwise you never would have brought your bastard son into your home."

Ned looked up to Jaime. "If I had been the one with the sword and white cloak… I would have done what you did. You are an arse, Jaime, but you are a good man too."

Jaime found himself actually laughing with lord Stark for once. It might be the only time he did. But this other feeling he had, it was like their was a weight being lifted off his shoulders. He didn't know what it was, only that it made him better. "If I were a good man, I would've killed Aerys the first time I laid eyes on the cunt. If Arthur or any of those men I called brothers were good men they would have been the ones to forsake oath and honor. Instead we stood and watched and listened. Burn them, burn them all."

"Trust is both a difficult and easy thing to break. For them, they would die to make sure that trust was intact." Both Ned and Jaime shared a look. "Can I find trust in you, ser?"

"In what regard?"

"What assurance can you give me that you will not change my son from becoming the man he is?" Ned asked.

Jaime stared at the man he just exchanged angry words with. He wondered why on earth Ned Stark was offering him this chance now. What was he hoping to achieve by this? "Only my word on my honor even though I am without any."

Ned looked at him long and fiercely. "Then you have my consent to take my son as your squire, Ser Jaime."

* * *

 **Edit: the Dillion is Rhaegar thing was a joke to the people angry about his introduction in ch 7**


End file.
